


Things unrequited

by Bearfacedcheek



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-04-22 07:15:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 48,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14303595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bearfacedcheek/pseuds/Bearfacedcheek
Summary: New Veronica, new type?Set after S01E01 Veronica decides that Jughead Jones is the perfect antidote to all the bad romantic and moral choices she always seems to make. But making Jughead hers doesn't prove as straight forward a task as she expects





	1. New type

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, hello :-) New to Archive of our own and ready to play. I hope some of you enjoy this little Jeronica fic I've been working on. Let me know if you do, let me know if you don't it's all good.

Kissing Archie Andrews in the closet at Cheryl Blossom’s party is exactly the sort of thing the ‘old’ Veronica would have done. 

Sure, she’d dressed it up in her mind as saving her new friends from the altogether worse fate of Cheryl claiming those seven minutes in heaven with Archie but she knows her own bullshit well enough to know that was a lie. She’d been seduced, as usual, by her own power over them. Over Archie and his clueless maleness and poor trusting Betty whose pretty face somehow failed to capture his attention.

She’d gloried, just like so many times before, in her own dark and dazzling sparkle. Beautiful, fearless, Veronica Lodge. What a bitch.

She finds Betty and begs her forgiveness with flowers and cupcakes. Promises, and truly means it, that no man will ever come between them. She needs Betty if she’s going to reverse the rot inside that is, bit by bit, irrevocably turning her into her mother, or God forbid her father. This beacon of blonde and pastel perfection, of guileless goodness and inexhaustible forgiveness, this girl will be, she’s certain of it, the making of the brand-new Veronica Lodge.

“Thank you,” she smiles at Betty when the blonde echoes the vow and leans in to sip her milkshake. “You know I should just swear off boys all together. Boys are trouble, or maybe that’s just my type”

Betty smiles around her straw. “New Veronica, new type?” she suggests and Veronica nods in agreement. 

The bell above the door chimes and Archie appears with an indistinct shadow just off his shoulder, his bright red hair and startling good looks easily eclipsing the dark-haired boy at his side and part of her – bad, bad Veronica – thinks for a moment what a stunning combination of crimson and ebony she and Archie would make.

Betty asks the pair to join them and for a long awkward moment Archie just stares dumbly, then the shadow steps forward an lays his hand on the taller man’s shoulder. “Yes” he declares and as he saunters towards them he breaks the tension with insouciant ease. “But only if you’re treating”

Betty laughs and Archie looks relieved as he slips in beside the blonde. The shadow clambers lithely over the seat to settle on her other side, introducing himself as he goes. “Jughead Jones” he says and adds with ironic grandeur. “The third”

“The third,” she mimics with a laugh before turning back to face Archie and Betty with a smile. Suddenly it seems possible to strive for this life, this easy friendship with the perfect girl and gorgeous boy opposite. This better version of herself.

She has a good time, better than she could have expected. Archie and Betty are wonderfully wholesome and kind and Jughead’s comments, though sparse, bite with a sardonic humour and educated wit that lifts the evening from merely nice to actively entertaining. When they rise to leave Archie insists on pulling out a few bills for his share of the bill but Jughead shrugs and shamelessly walks off without reaching for his wallet. “Hey, your treat right?” he throws over his shoulder as he goes and she can’t decide if she’s amused or annoyed.

“Sure, my treat.” She mutters then says goodnight to Betty and heads to the counter.

“I’m disappointed, truly.” The sneering voice at her side wipes the slight smile she’d been wearing off her face and she hear her own sigh huff loudly from her nose. “I thought you would have more sense of style than to associate with the three muska-weirds”

“Really, Cheryl?” she doesn’t even bother looking at the redhead as she hands Pop a handful of bills.

“Archie’s a doll these days,” Cheryl continues undeterred by Veronica’s obvious hostility. “But Betty and Jughead? Sweetie, they are just not your type”

She finally looks at Cheryl. The redhead's heavily painted lips are turned up in a cold patronising smile she knows she’s worn plenty of times herself over the years as she stamped her queen bitch authority on every social situation. It’s only now that she realises just how ugly an expression it truly is.

“Maybe that is exactly what I like about them” she says haughtily as she turns and sashays out letting her heels click loudly against the tiled floor.

That night in bed she thinks the last couple of days over and over in her mind. Analyses her own behaviour, her own deficiencies of character, and tries to formulate a plan to not fail this badly again. Her first priority will be her loyalty to Betty which must be completely unwavering. Secondly, she decides, she will in fact need to swear completely off boys. Boys, especially the gorgeous popular boys that always catch her eye, are catalysts for erratic and amoral behaviour. 

The next day at school she determinedly ignores the flirtations of the admittedly gorgeous, if patently shallow, Chuck Clayton and heads to lunch feeling pleased with herself. She wants to tell Betty because she’s honestly excited by her own restraint but she’s not sure that refraining from flirting with a guy for a whole ten minutes will actually impress the blonde.

As she approaches the cafeteria she sees Reggie Mantle and a couple of other football players whose names she doesn’t care to try and recall shove Jughead roughly against a row of lockers as they pass. They barely break stride to do it, so practiced and casual is the physical bullying and she wonders if the old Veronica would even have noticed. 

Jughead rolls his eyes. The action reminds her of the incident with Archie and Reggie in the student lounge the day before and only then does she realise that the original target of Reggie’s bullying had been Jughead.

She hadn’t noticed. She’d seen Archie getting involved and had admired the set of his strong jaw as he’d stepped up to Reggie. But she realises now it hadn’t been the good deed so much as the machismo of the scene that had snagged her attention. So much for a new Veronica, the bullied were still faceless victims trod beneath the point of her Laboutin heel.

Jughead seems unfazed by the attack as he piles books into his locker. But thinking back he’d been pretty cool yesterday too. “It’s called necrophilia Reggie,” she remembers now how relaxed, almost bored, he’d looked as he’d goaded the jock. “Can you spell it?”

“Jerks,” she mumbles at the retreating backs of those letterman jackets, before turning to Jughead. “Hey,” she greets and he gives her a perplexed look his dark brows pinched in something that might be confusion or annoyance it’s hard to tell. What she does realise, now that she looks at him outside the shadow of Archie Andrews, is that he’s actually quite handsome in a way she doesn’t normally notice, pale skinned and dark haired with eyes the colour of a river in winter.

“Hey” he responds and looks around awkwardly. “Archie has practice”

“Ok,” she hadn’t asked and she’s distracted for a moment by thinking that he’s complete opposite of any boy she’s ever spent more than thirty seconds of her time on when he moves away without another word and stalks off down the hall looking every inch the stereotypical outsider. 

His exit is halted by Betty as she turns the corner and greets him with a beaming sunrise smile. “Juggie,” she lays a hand on his arm in a way that’s familiar but not flirty and he accepts it without reaction. “Are you heading to the office after class?”

“Yes,” he pulls away from Betty and walks away backwards for a couple of strides his whole demeanour lighter in the presence of their blonde friend. “Bring snacks” he orders as he turns and leaves.

Betty is giving his back a fond motherly smile as she steps up alongside her friend and watches him go. ‘Not her type’. That’s what Cheryl had called them. An idea strikes her and almost immediately forms itself into a plan.

She’s going to have Jughead Jones. He can be her boyfriend here in Riverdale. He is after all the exact opposite of every terrible romantic mistake she’s ever made while still being surprisingly easy on the eye. He’s friends with Archie and Betty, who, as Kevin astutely pointed out, are inevitable. So she’ll be with Jughead and together they’ll close the sides of a perfect little friendship square.

She smiles widely at Betty, delighted with her own idea. “The office?” she asks.

“Jug and I are reviving the school paper,” Betty appears genuinely excited by what to her seems like a mind numbingly boring endeavour. “Jug’s an awesome writer, if a little inclined to the macabre.” Betty laughs fondly and Veronica decides she will definitely go out with Jughead, macabre or not, because if Betty likes him he must be ok.


	2. Oblivious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things don't really go the way Veronica hopes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos and special thanks to finalfrontierpioneer, Kewtoomuch and Elizabeth for leaving comments. You guys rock.
> 
> No beta so apologies in advance for typos and grammatical mess ups

A few days later Veronica realises that ‘having’ Jughead Jones is not the easy task she’d imagined it would be when she’d decided to make him her boyfriend.

Boys, in general, line up to be with Veronica Lodge. Riverdale, in general, is no exception. Reggie and Chuck and a host of other jocks have already asked her out. Even a few of the shyer preppier types have shown an interest. In general, she is as irresistible as ever.

Specifically she is almost invisible. Jughead it seems has so little interested in Veronica Lodge in any context other than as Betty and Archie’s new friend that his interactions with her lie somewhere between mildly annoyed and openly rude. Her attempts at flirting have been met with a look of irritated bafflement and, more often than not, a statement along the lines of. “Betty’s not here” or “Archie’s over there”

The coy smiles and saucy comments that have never failed her before have absolutely no effect on the oblivious object of her attentions and Veronica finds herself for the first time in her life completely unable to get what she wants.

That this fact makes her all the more desperate to capture the object of what had started out as little more than a passing notion is no great revelation on the nature of the human mind. Still her own clichéd reaction to his indifference irks her. What would she, Veronica Lodge, care if a loser loner, in a beanie she doubts has ever seen the inside of a washing machine, doesn’t like her?

It turns out she cares a lot and it’s pissing her off. 

It doesn’t help that he is, now that she’s looking closely, actually very attractive. Around their friends he’s funny in a derisive sardonic way and he wields an arsenal of literary and cinematographic references that challenges her own. Moreover, when he smiles, when the perpetual downturn of his full lips turns upwards and shows those very slightly goofy front teeth she gets a little fizz of something in her belly that’s usual reserved for quarterbacks and a young Hugh Jackman.

Since her usual methods of garnering male attention are falling so spectacularly short she’s resorted to bringing snacks to school that she has no intention of eating in the hope he’ll nudge her, as he sometimes does Betty, and silently eye the spare food in a way that always makes the blonde laugh and push it towards him with an indulgent smile.

He doesn’t and like the spoiled little rich girl she knows she is her patience runs thin after only a couple of weeks. She’s trying to formulate a plan to force herself into his notice when she gets just the opening she needs. The four of them – it’s always the four of them and yet they’re far from the perfect square she’d imagined – are seated in a booth a Pop’s, Jughead is in his usual place at her side with his foot drawn up onto the bench like a wall between them, and he’s complaining.

“Come on Betts,” he whines. “You cover it, it’s not really my area”

“I can’t Jug,” Betty explains again with inexhaustible patience. “You know I’m out of town for my Grandparents’ wedding anniversary”

“It’s a fashion show,” Jughead says with unconcealed disdain as if that’s all the argument he needs.

“A student fashion show,” Betty corrects. “And hence it needs to be covered by the school paper”

“I’ll do it,” she offers, causing and all three pairs of eyes to turn sceptically on her. She lays her hand theatrically on her own chest. “Veronica Lodge, reporter. I like the sound of that”

“You want to write for the Blue and Gold?” Jughead couldn’t sound less convinced if she’d said she was going to try out for the wrestling team.

“Why not? You guys are stretched, right? I’ll take over page six, fashion and gossip. Definitely my area”

“Are you sure V?” Betty asks dubiously. “It’s a pretty big commitment and once you sign up Wetherbee isn’t going to let you bail”

“Elizabeth Cooper, are you implying I’m a flake?” she hams up the mock outrage and Betty scrambles for an apology that makes Jughead chuckle at her side. “I can’t believe the lack of faith you have in me,” she glares at Jughead when he lets out a amused snorting noise. “Both of you. Shame!”

“We’re sorry V,” Betty leans over and grips her hand. “We both are. We’d love to have you”

Betty looks pointedly at Jughead but he just shrugs and steals some of Archie’s fries.

“Sure,” he talks with his mouth full, looking decidedly underwhelmed by the whole idea. “Welcome to the team”

She ambushes him at the Blue and Gold office after school the following day with a plan to ask him for advice on covering the show. Men, in her experience, enjoy few things more than imparting wisdom. She’ll listen attentively and nod agreeably and he’ll finally notice her as something other than Betty’s new friend. He seems surprised and mildly irritated to find her there and if she wasn’t such a magnificently stubborn woman she’d probably give up on the whole idea right there and then. 

Instead she smiles sweetly and sidles over to perch on the desk as he sits down. “Jones,” she greets acutely aware that he doesn’t so much as glance at the teasing hint of stockinged thigh she’s flashing his way. “I have a favour to ask”

He leans back and crosses his arms, one eyebrow lifting in invitation for her to speak

“The fashion show,” she starts and coquettishly nibbles her lower lip; a tried an trusted technique that he doesn’t even notice.

“You want me to cover it after all,” he says with the resigned air of someone who expected this development. 

“No,” she snaps, almost as annoyed at the assumption that she’s unreliable as by his complete lack of reaction to her considerable charms. “I just wanted a bit of advice because I want to do Betty proud. Forget it”

She stands, gathers her things and turns to leave without glancing at him again.

“Veronica,” he calls tiredly as she goes but she ignores him and heads home feeling foolish and rejected. Neither are emotions she’s used to experiencing and she’s determined not to let them linger. She decides there and then that Jughead Jones is not worth the effort.

The next night she turns up to the fashion show in the school gym with a notepad, a camera and absolutely no idea what she’s supposed to do. To her surprise Jughead is leaning against the far wall looking as out of place as it is possible to look in his beanie and layers of loose dark greys and checks. He pushes off the wall when he sees her and wanders over. The first thing she notices is the languid tip of his shoulder as he navigates his way through the crowd, the second is the camera around his neck. 

He really didn’t think she’d come. He’s here to get Betty her story because he doesn’t give her enough credit to actually honour a commitment. His rejection, although calling it that would imply he had even noticed her advances, is still stinging and she feels her hackles rise in response to his presence. “What are you doing here?” she spits all the frustration of her failure to attract him bubbling over. “This is my story”

His eyes narrow. “Charming. You asked for my help remember?”

She immediately regrets snapping, he’d come to help and she’d bitched out. Before she can mumble out an apology he leans right into her personal space, his body almost but not quite touching hers in a way that is wholly distracting and whispers “good luck” darkly in her ear.

Then he’s gone and she plasters on a mask of unshakable self-confidence and heads back stage where she snaps the models, mostly River Vixens and football players from the higher years, and interviews the designers.

By the time she’s strutting out a few hours later she feels like a young hot Suzy Menkes and she texts Betty, who replies with a smiley face and a command to have it written up by her return the day after tomorrow.

“Slave driver” she fires back and pockets her phone feeling pleased with herself.   
She has the article finished by lunchtime the next day and is pretty satisfied with it and the photo spread she’s put together to go with it. And she’s in a good mood as she wanders into the student lounge later.

Raucous laughter greets her and she can see Reggie’s broad back as he and his cronies surround someone seated on the couch. Reggie says something, another boy moos and they all laugh like hyenas.

She’s about to investigate when she spots Jughead push himself off the far wall and take a breath so deep she can see his shoulders rise and fall even from across the room. 

“Oh Reggie,” he draws the groups attention with his bored chiding tone. “This is a bit clichéd, even for you”

“No one asked you Wednesday Adams” Reggie’s cronies laugh at their leader’s go to insult for Jughead as if it’s the first time they’ve heard it while Jughead just rolls his eyes.

“Predictable as always Reggie and disappointing,” He tilts his head looking as bored as he claims to be as he delivers the line he must know will enrage the jock. “Very like your GPA”

The comment draws a snarl from Reggie who surges forward and takes Jughead by the lapels easily driving the lighter man into the wall with a loud thud. Reggie draws back his arm and Veronica lurches forward to try and intervene, knowing she’ll be too late anyway to stop Jughead getting soundly punched in the face. She needn’t have worried, this is clearly not Jughead’s first rodeo and he lithely slips to the side just as Reggie unleashes his fist so that the larger man’s knuckles find the wall behind with a sickening smack and he releases Jughead with a curse.

“You little” Reggie growls and grabs Jughead as he tries to make his escape, using his size to twist Jughead’s arm painfully in it’s socket and slam him face first into the wall again drawing a muffled grunt of pain from Jughead just as Wetherbee appears in the doorway. 

“What’s going on here?” he snaps looking between Jughead and Reggie, then sweeping his eyes over the suddenly silent room.

“Nothing Sir” Reggie answers. “Just fooling around”

Wetherbee narrows his eyes. “Mr Jones?” he asks though surely he must already know he’ll get no answers from anyone here. You can almost feel the entire student body, bullies and bullied alike, closing ranks against their principal

“Nothing sir,” Jughead glances at Reggie. “Just fooling”

“Ok,” Wetherbee nods, clearly too old a hand to challenge the students’ misguided solidarity. “Everyone get to class”

The bullies leave and so does Wetherbee and Jughead squats down in front of Ethel and hands back her kit bag. He gives her a soft look from underneath the curtain of dark hair that’s escaped his beanie as she shoves the voluminous gym shorts that had been the source of such amusement for Reggie back inside. “You ok?”

“Sure,” Ethel looks at Jughead with wide shining eyes. “Just three years to go right?”

“That’s the spirit,” Jughead pats her knee and throws her a wink as he stands and Ethel watches him go with a dopey look on her face that makes Veronica smile to herself.

“That was a nice thing you did?” she says when she finds Jughead in the cafeteria massaging his sore shoulder through the thin material of his S t-shirt.

He grunts and glances up at her briefly as she perches on the table. “Ethel doesn’t deserve their shit”

She pulls the candy bar she’s been carrying around in the hope he’ll ask her for it from her bag and hands it to him. He takes it without a word and eats it in alarmingly few bites. His cheeks are still rounded when she leans back on her elbows and catches his eye.

“I think Ethel may have a crush on you”

He swallows and runs his sleeve over his lips bashfully. “Since middle school. Figure its cos I’m the only guy that’s ever been nice to her.”

Part of her wants to say something flirty, maybe mention all the other reasons – the movement of the muscles in his shoulder as he rolls it again included – that a girl might crush on him. But experience has shown her that that sort of thing doesn’t really affect him so she allows herself a moment of thought then she hums softly and nods. “Actually, that sounds like a really good reason to crush on someone. Much more sensible than the usual reasons anyway”

He gives her an odd look and she thinks maybe just maybe he’s wondering if there’s more to her than he obviously assumes. “I guess”

“Are you ok?” she flicks her gaze to his shoulder. “Surprisingly, I’ve heard heroically sustained injuries hurt almost as much as the usual kind” 

“Apparently so,” he fingers his tender shoulder and looks at her from beneath the thick curtain of dark hair that’s escaped his beanie. “The injustice. At least Reggie busted his hand, that’s something”

“Yes, that did look satisfyingly painful,” she nods thoughtfully, lips twitching into a smile. “He may struggle to hold his crayon this afternoon”

Jughead barks out a laugh and she leans a little closer, drawn by the thawing expression on his face and the movement of his hand on his own body. She’s debating if she can get away with touching him when a shrill grating voice interrupts them.

“Ew, stay away from her, you creep” Ginger sneers as she flounces over. 

“Ginger not n-” she starts but the brunette just talks over her.

“Whatever. Cheryl told me to come and extract you from loserville so she can brief us on makeup for the game tonight”

She can almost feel Jughead’s disdain rolling over her skin like a winter breeze and she’s desperately trying to think of something clever and dismissive to say to make sure he sets her apart from the vacuous tramps she shares a cheer squad with when he rises and brushes past without a glance in her direction.

“Damn,” she mutters and glares at Ginger. “Tell Cheryl I don’t take beauty advise from the Queen of the Damned and I have class”

She doesn’t, and she spends her free period trying to find Jughead. But he’s vanished so she finds Kevin instead and flops down beside him with a huff.

“You ok?” he asks leaning towards her. She’s quickly decided Kevin is one of her absolute favourite things about Riverdale. He’s charming and funny and is one of the only new friends she’s made that knows Prada from payless. He’s also, and this she’s decided is very important to the new Veronica, a thoroughly good person.

She huffs again and Kevin nods understandingly. “Boy trouble?”

“Hardly,” she flicks her hair nonchalantly. “Riverdale’s not exactly brimming with eligible bachelors”

“Tell me about it,” Kevin leans back in his chair. “The pretty ones are all assholes and the nice one’s are all trolls.”

She laughs at his melodramatic sigh. “There are nice pretty ones,” she counters warmly. “A few. They’re just either taken, gay,” she give and illustrative wave of her hand in Kevin’s direct. “Or totally oblivious”

“Or so deep in the closet they’re almost in Narnia”

She laughs again and for a moment considers sharing the details of her boy trouble. Telling Kevin how this boy, who was supposed to be a convenience has made himself so stubbornly inconvenient that she’s worried he’s slipping under her skin in a way she’s never experienced before. That he’s not just funny and handsome but he’s also just proved himself to be brave and kind and she’s surer than ever that he’s everything she needs to be who she wants to be.

Kevin knows Jughead, maybe he can help her out, give her some pointers on the way to get his attention but Kevin asks about the fashion show and the moment passes.

 

It would, she thinks a week or so later, have been moot anyway. Her new position at the paper throws her and Jughead violently into one another’s orbit in a new and not entirely pleasant way. 

To say they clash might be overstating the case but they certainly don’t gel. While Betty and Jughead seem to think with almost one mind she finds herself always the counter point and artistic differences morph often into verbal sparring that holds enough intellectual challenge to keep her time in the Blue and Gold office interesting but doesn’t bring her any closer to thawing his icy attitude towards her.

He rolls his eyes when she suggests a piece on the River Vixens’ new uniforms and mumbles something about objectification that makes her bristle.

“Cheer-leading is sport,” she’s on her feet indignant and confrontational. “Demanding strength, flexibility and courage”

“Doubtless,” he leans back in his chair and meets her eyes. There’s glint of challenge in his that she can’t deny excites her, clearly he’s ready for one of their battles. “But does it demand exposed midriffs and micro skirts? Does it have to be done specifically as a prelude to the guys playing football?”

She ignores the jibe about the uniforms, aware that she’s just a little bit guilty of enjoying the attention those micro skirts always afforded her.

“We have a critical role at the game,” she explains, letting her tone imply he’s being slow in not understanding. “We engender school spirit and cheer our teams to success ”

“Then where were you when the girls’ soccer team got their assess handed to them by Greendale High two nights ago?” he looks smug like he’s sure he has this argument in the bag and she bristles. “Or do your cheers only inspire the athletes who appreciate your assets? Here I thought you were a feminist”

“I am, cheer-leading is a empowering, and just as significant at football”

He snorts. “I’ll believe that when Reggie and Chuck wave pompoms from the sidelines while you compete”

She glares at him and he glowers back. “Hardl-”

“Hey,” Betty appears in her eye line smiling stiffly. “I think we could definitely get a few shots of the new uniform. Great idea”

Jughead makes a disgruntled noise and Betty turns to him with a warning look. “Let just focus on our own articles ok?” she tells her old friend in a voice that brooks no argument. “And agree that the paper benefits from diverse interests”

Jughead gives the blonde a long suffering look then shrugs his acquiescence and turns back to his screen without glancing Veronica’s way again. Once they’ve all returned to their work she takes a moment to study his profile. His eyes are on his screen and he’s chewing the nail of his thumb thoughtfully and she wishes she fervently that she could either have him or hate him.

He turns to her and their eyes meet, she feels it like electricity pulsing through the connection of their gaze and down into her chest where her heart is suddenly pounding. It feels like the shared moment she’s been waiting for and she draws in a shuddering breath, excited and expectant. Then he scowls, confusion and annoyance on his brow, before he turns away again and she deflates. Like everything she thinks she’s shared with him it was just an illusion a construct of her own imagination. She’s never felt like such a fool.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment if you can. I'd love to know what you guys think so far


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to Ghostling, Elizabeth, K, bella_dahlia, thiswasmade4me and LadyJessYU for leaving comments last time you all get sloppy kisses.
> 
> Sloppy kisses too for those who clicked the little kudos heart, we love the kudos heart

 

Relations at the Blue and Gold on the surface don’t appear to improve in the week after hitting rock bottom over their spat about cheer leading. She’d left that day determined to put him from her mind. She never really wanted him anyway, she reasons, it was the idea of him that she wanted and then, in her perversity, it was just a reaction to his indifference.

 

So she stops trying to seduce Jughead. She resolves to think of Betty and Archie as her friends and to interact with him only as much as is absolutely required.

 

It doesn’t work out that way. The reality of their mirrored friendships with Archie and Betty is that they are always, _always_ , together and now, without the pressure of trying to win him over, she has no reason to hold back the full force of her wit.

 

o

On the surface anyone would tell you that things between Jughead and Veronica go from bad to worse. But she thinks that if they were to look a little closer that observer might see a new glimmer of amusement in Jughead’s eyes when she turns to him with a sugary smile and cuts at him with her tongue, the comments barbed and unrestrained when they disagree.

 

If that same observer watched her eyes when something she says makes him clench his jaw, set down his burger, and regarded her with almost insulted disdain she knows they’d see sparks of anticipation flashing in her gaze. Their battles run back and forth over hours both too stubborn, too convinced of their own cleverness, to let it go. It makes Betty and Archie sigh and forcibly change the subject leaving the two of them still glowering at each other with set mouths and burning eyes.

 

These days she finds she lives for it. Wanting to seduce Jughead has morphed into wanting to best him, although she rarely minds when she loses. When in victory his mouth tilts up at one side and he smugly lifts his eyebrows she finds herself more often than not fighting an answering smile. The same smile she sees him stifle when she crows over his defeat.

 

She spinning round to wanting him again  or perhaps she  just never really stopped. It’s not just their battles that draws her to him, though  its true that  the fire of their skirmishes excites her in a way that’s new for her. Before him she had a type, all muscles and money. She toyed with them, twisted them round her finger and thrilled at her own irresistible power. Jughead feels different, so far below her socially and yet closer to her equal than anyone she’s ever met.

 

She’s also learned a few things about him over the weeks they’ve known each other. A little of the ongoing tragedy of his messed up life. Tales of abandonment and addiction, of parents not worthy of the name. Tales of poverty and homelessness that would have made the old Veronica crinkle up her nose in distaste and dismiss with flick of her pearl adorned wrist.

 

The new Veronica tries to see something else. To see, where once she’d have seen failure, courage and resilience. To see not her opposite but to admit that what she truly sees is a kindred.

A few weeks before homecoming Veronica’s lying on Betty’s bed in silk pyjamas with her hair piled messily on her head and her face bare and tingling with  the after effects of the ginseng face mask she’s just washed off  when Betty’s phone rings.

 

Kevin glances at the screen from his place at her feet where he’s been flicking through GQ and swooning over the suited models. “Archie” he says and throws the phone to Betty who deftly catches it and sets down her nail polish.

 

Moments later Betty’s hanging up with a broad smile. “The boys are coming over,”  she announces with the excited expression she’ s come to associate  with the arrival of Archie Andrews. “They’re bringing milkshakes from Pop’s”

 

Veronica sits up fast enough to give herself a mild head rush just as Kevin leans forward and scowls at the blonde. “Is the definition of girls’ night completely lost on you?”

 

“Sorry Kev,” Betty gives him a sheepish smile. “We’ll have to save our Matthew McConaughey marathon for another time,”. 

 

Veronica laughs and surreptitiously grabs her bag. “Betty’s right. No one wants to listen to six hours of Jughead lamenting the rise of the chick flick as the last nail in the coffin of thought provoking cinema” 

 

She escapes to the bathroom, hastily pulls out her make up bag and starts hurriedly applying foundation. She’s moving on to a little lightener on her brow bone when Betty appears in the doorway  watching her with a frown as she hastily adds a smoky shadow to the lid. 

 

Eventually the blonde speaks. “You said you didn’t want Archie” 

 

The ridiculousness of the statement flying at her from so far out of left field would make her laugh if there hadn’t been a sort of wounded accusation in Betty’s tone. She stops with her mascara in hand and turns to her friend. “I don’t”

 

“Really? Because a minute ago you had a cheeto in your hair and now Archie’s on his way and you’re,” Betty gestures at her with an upturned palm and a slight grimace. “Panic primping”

 

She does laugh then,  “Girl believe me  Veronica Lodge does not panic primp and certainly not for Archie Andrews”

 

She turns back to the mirror and starts applying mascara when Betty’s voice stops her again. “Well you’re not doing it for Jughead, you guys hate each other”

 

Her hand stills  for a split second  at the matter of fact statement and she has to fight to keep her tone nonchalant as she moves the brush over her lower lashes. “Are those his word?”

 

“More and observation. V can we be honest?” Betty wrings her hands. “We said no guy would come between us and you know how I feel about Archie-”

“Stop B” she puts the brush down and turns fully to face her friend. “I swear to you I don’t want Archie. But no straight guy has seen me sans make-up since 7th grade and it’s a record of which I’m oddly proud. That’s all ok, I promise”

 

She’s barely lying, just a little white one to cover the embarrassment of her frankly ludicrous unrequited desire for Jughead Jones, so it’s easy to infuse her voice with all the sincerity it takes to make Betty nod and smile. “Ok”

 

“They’re here,” Kevin calls and Betty heads downstairs with that little smile she always wears when Archie’s around. She takes a moment to finish applying a pale natural gloss to her lips and smooth out her hair before she follows.

 

As she descends the stairs she sees Jughead standing with Betty in the hall. “Where’s Riverdale’s very own Ginevra King this evening?” he asks as he slips the strap of his messenger bag over his head.

 

She laughs lightly the sound musical and lilting to her own ears and Jughead turns to watch her coming down the stairs taking in her short burgundy silk pyjamas and the length of her bare legs before bringing his eyes up to meet her gaze.  He swallows shallowly and she feels for the first time around him powerful in her own beauty. 

 

“Fear not Francis your muse arrives”

 

He snorts, half laughter half scoff, a sound so perfectly Jughead that she can’t help but grin in response. He smiles too and she holds his gaze for long enough for it to feel weighted until his face scrunches up with confusion and he impatiently turns away to follow Archie into the lounge.

 

She’s watching his back and biting her lip when she becomes aware of Betty looking at her with  a question on  her pretty face. She quickly averts her eyes, “ I’ll make pop corn” she declares and heads to the kitchen

 

Behind her she hears a scuffle and Jughead’s voice as she chases after her. “Wait,  outta the way Betts, this needs to be supervised”

 

“I can make pop corn Jughead” she tells him crossly, feeling flustered by Betty’s assessing gaze as the blonde follows their interaction. 

 

“Not a risk I’m willing to take,” he trails after her, Sherpa jacket now discarded and his check shirt tied around his waist so that she can see the definition of his chest through his t-shirt as he leans back against the counter. “Let us never forget the tragic coconut butter debacle of September 21st”

 

She lifts her eyebrows, irritation giving way to amusement. “You remember the date?”

 

“It’s burned into my brain,” He hops lithely up onto the counter and swings his legs like a child. “Traditional cow butter this time Miss Lodge and pure American cane sugar”

 

“So unhealthy,” she grumbles as she fetches the butter form the fridge, aware of his eyes on her as she goes and his low chuckle in the air.

 

A few minutes later they settle down in front of the TV. Veronica between Kevin and Betty on the couch with Jughead and Archie at their feet on the floor reaching back blindly over their shoulders for handfuls of the popcorn in her lap. She licks her fingers, watching Jughead do the same. The popcorn is sweet and sticky with the extra sugar he’d insisted on.

 

“Ah ah,” he’d leapt down from his perch on the counter as she’d moved to put away the sugar and reached over her to capture it form her grasp, leaning over her as he’d dumped three more hefty spoonfuls onto the popcorn before turning to regard her with a boyish grin. “Amateur” he’d teased and her heart had raced at the proximity of his face to hers and the rom com perfection of the moment.

 

Every time he turns to get more popcorn his side brushes her knee and she’s hyper aware of the fact he doesn’t withdraw from the contact. They watch Marnie and Betty declares it creepy. “I just think with everything we know about him this film is kinda inappropriate.”

 

“That’s it’s power,” she counters. “We see the real Hitchcock in this film. It’s sick, because he was sick.”

 

Jughead lays his head back on the couch next to her knee and watches her, attentive and quiet, as she continues. “He lost control in this movie and he held up a mirror to himself and the twisted way he treated women.”

 

“Agreed,” Jughead says in a rare moment of accord. “Mark isn’t just a metaphor for Hitchcock himself but for the entire Hollywood machine and how it at exults female beauty to the point where it loses identity and becomes almost dehumanised and ultimately victimised”

 

She nods, she’s seen Marnie many times, she’s thought these thoughts herself. “Marnie, and Hedren in a way too i suppose, is fascinating. She’s in this grey area where on the one hand she’s got all this power over Mark she’s clever and manipulative in her own way but she’s still fragile and damaged, ultimately she’s a victim”

 

She’s still addressing her analysis to Jughead, who’s eyes haven’t left hers as she speaks. “Hitchcock’s final insult is the way he paints her victimhood as willing when she chooses to stay with Mark.”

 

Jughead nods, she’s loved arguing with him but feeling the same way as him, about something she’s felt so strongly about herself, is even better. “Absolutely, he gives her the illusion of agency so he can absolve the male lead-”

 

“Guys, enough” Archie cuts in with a laugh. “Don’t encourage him Ronnie, can we never just watch the movie?”

 

“Yes,” Kevin exclaims from her right. “But please another movie, something form the last decade perhaps”

 

The others go on to discussing a lighter option and she catches Jughead’s eye. His head is still lying back against the couch and when he makes a face as Archie enthusiastically suggests Avatar she gives his temple a bump with her knee to stop him saying anything mean. He rolls his eyes and keeps his gaze on her's as he concedes. “Fine Archie whatever”

 

She feels eyes on her and as Jughead turns away she ‘s aware of Betty watching her again with a small mischievous smile on her pink lips.

 

“Oh before I forget,” Betty says altogether too nonchalantly. “Wetherbee has me meeting and greeting Alumni at Homecoming so I need you guys to cover it for the Blue and Gold”

 

“You’re area I think,” Jughead says through another mouthful of chips without looking away from the opening titles.

 

“You know I actually thought it might be interesting to have two perspectives,” Betty suggests and alarm bells start clanging in her head. “The cheerleader and the outsider, two diametric views on one event”

 

“That would be interesting,” Jughead deadpans looking at them over his shoulder. “If there were any way in hell I’d go to a school dance”

 

Betty catches her eye when Jughead looks away and she feels her heart sink. Her friend is on to her and the blonde is clearly of a mind to make matches. She  shakes her head and gives Betty a warning look which is easily ignored.

 

“Come on Juggie. If you go with V you can-” Betty begins, using the same nickname and cajoling tone Veronica’s heard both her and Archie use to get their way with Jughead before.

 

But Jughead’s clearly not in the mood to be manipulated tonight, he throws up a hand and without looking at them dismisses the half formed suggestion. “I’m not going to a dance Betty. Besides I’m sincerely doubt Veronica’s date would want me tagging along.” 

 

“I don’t have a date,” she states plainly making her voice cool to the point of disinterest.

 

Jughead finally looks away from the TV and turns fully to face the girls. “Why not?”

 

“Because,” she avoids looking at him by idly inspecting her own newly polished nails while she summons her courage. Now or never Lodge she thinks. “The only guy in school I’d have said yes to, barely notices me”

 

He scoffs again. “ _Every_ guy in school notices you Veronica, predictably. I’d have thought the entire football team would be falling over each other to take you”

 

“Oh they were,” she meets his eyes and tips her head so her dark hair curtains over her shoulder. “But like I said. Wrong guys”

 

Jughead looks like he’s been told the world doesn’t orbit the sun, he looks confused and dubious and perhaps a little peeved by this challenge to his assumptions.

 

She tosses her hair haughtily. “Oh don’t worry, I’ll make him notice me one day, and then he won’t know what’s hit him”

 

Dark eyebrows rise and he half smiles and shakes his head. “I don’t doubt that”

 

Betty’s watching the exchange with a pleased, puckish, expression on her face and Veronica gives her friend a dark look as she stands and turns to the kitchen. “Anyone want a soda?”

 

As she feared Betty is on to her. Once the boys  leave and Kevin is snoring softly on the air mattress beside the bed Betty rolls onto her side and looks expectantly at her. “Well?”

 

She sighs feeling defeated before she even begins this conversation.”Well what?”

 

“Well, you _like_ Jughead?”

 

She feels her self grimace and Betty’s eyes widen. “Oh my god you actually do, I thought I was being crazy”

 

“I think I’m the crazy one. I can’t believe I’ve got myself in to this situation. I like a guy that hates me, a guy in plaid” she shudders and Betty laughs softly.

 

“Jughead doesn’t hate you, he’s just,” Betty pauses thoughtfully. “Opinionated,”

 

Betty’s diplomacy is endlessly endearing and she smiles fondly. “Its fine Betty. Besides it’s probably good for my emotional growth to experience the humiliation of all things unrequited”

 

Betty gives her a sympathetic look. “Well don’t take it personally I don’t think Jughead even likes girls, or anyone really, that way,” an awkward shrug against the mattress. “He’s just Jughead you know”

 

She thinks about that after Betty falls asleep. She’s surprised at the thoughtlessness of that dismissal. ‘Just Jughead’. Reducing him, his feelings, his sexuality to a mere triviality, an irrelevance deserving no consideration beyond that offhand statement. But nothing is that simple, no one is just anyone and especially not him.

 

She remembers his failed attempt to save the drive in, his passion had burned so brightly then, too brightly making the people around him uneasy. Archie and Betty had made the right noises about supporting him but their efforts had been akin to indulging an eccentric whim. Just Jughead and one of his causes. 

 

She decides as she’s drifting into sleep that she’s going to tell him she likes him, perhaps even invite him to the dance. Because maybe she’s right and he hates her, maybe Betty’s right and he’s just not into anyone that way, but what she knows he’s not is ‘just Jughead’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think, i'd be glad of any and all feedback


	4. Dancing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Veronica asks Jughead to go to the homecoming dance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK two important notes
> 
> 1\. I've beefed up Hermione's prescription drug problem which was only alluded to in the show ('sleeping the arms of prince valium') because it suits my purposes
> 
> 2\. I am British and in Britain the things jughead wears hanging of his hips are called braces. Suspenders are the things a lady wears to keep up her stockings and i can't, even for an american audience, even in a vaguely veronica POV fic, I can't describe Jughead as wearing suspenders the images are just far too rocky horror picture show.

Chapter 4

 

She doesn’t ask Jughead to the dance the next day, nor the day after that. Fearless veronica Lodge is, and she would never admit it because it’s so shameful, afraid. Not once in her life has she needed to ask a guy out. Beating them off is more her style, or stringing them along. But walking up to a boy and putting herself out there, that's something she’s never done and she’s honestly terrified.

 

Mercifully Betty doesn’t try any more matchmaking and only teases her a little when she catches her glancing over at him in history. Two days before the dance she still hasn’t said anything and she’s irritable with herself and snappy with her friends when she finds herself alone in the Blue and Gold office with an unusually chipper Jughead who’s leaning back in his chair and tossing a paper weight between his palms, the audible rhythmic smack of glass against skin grating on her nerves.

 

She steps over snatches it out of mid-air and sets it down on the table with a bang before turning to glare at him.

 

He looks from side to side as if some explanation for her outburst might be lurking in the office with them and questions cautiously. “Veronica?”

 

“You should come to the dance” she snaps and although this is not at all how she’d planned on asking him she’s committed now so she ploughs on. “You can’t know you’d hate it if you’ve never actually been”

 

“I don’t need to catch syphilis to know it’s horrific” he counters snatching back the paperweight and running his hands over it like it’s a crystal ball. “Likewise going to a school dance.”

 

“Well then, experience it so as better deride it. Write Betty a scathing review nuanced with first-hand knowledge of the horror, prick the bubble of American conformity.”

 

He narrows his eyes but she can see that she’s caught his interest. He likes the idea of flaunting his non-conformity, his outsider aesthetic matters to him and the temptation of a sneering acerbic take down of the clichés of American teenhood may just be enough to get him there.

 

“I’ll lend you one of daddy’s suits,” she presses the slight advantage. “You’re about his size, and you can pick me up at seven”

 

He frowns. “ _You,”_ he emphasise and looks at her quizzically. “Want to work the dance instead of being crowned queen of it?”

 

“I’m not interested in a plastic tiara Jughead,” she tips her head and gives him a winning smile, now or never she thinks and wraps a section of hair around her finger coyly. “Besides who better than you and I to share a commentary of the parochial desperation of it all”

 

He snorts but she doesn’t let him reply. “Just take me to the damn dance Jughead.” She takes a heaving breath and with him seated and her leaning against the desk her breast are pretty much at his eye level and his gaze briefly tracks their rise and fall. Emboldened she continues more softly.  “I already told you I’m not going to say yes to anyone else. So either you take me and I promise to be dazzlingly witty or condemn me to third wheeling Betty and Archie as they waste yet another opportunity to realise they’re meant to be together.”

 

She’s always known Jughead could frown professionally but she’s never seen the lines of confusion and disbelief carved this deeply into his forehead. “Wait, what?” he looks at her then down at the paperweight as if, like the crystal ball it resembles, it actually holds answers. She can almost hear the wheels turning in his head as he unpicks her words. “The guy,” he lifts his eyes to hers again and she thinks he looks vaguely nauseous which she is not interpreting as a good sign. “The one that doesn’t notice you. Is me?”

 

Her stomach lurches sickeningly at his tone which is not just perplexed but mistrustful and annoyed. This is so much worse than her worst imaginings, she’s hurt and humiliated and she wants to crawl under a rock somewhere and never come out, but she’s also Veronica Lodge and she’s damned if she’ll let him see that.

 

She shrugs and forces flippancy into her tone. “Obviously.”

 

He gapes at her for a long moment. “ _You_ like _me_?”

 

“Jesus Jughead,” she snaps in irritation.  “Are you always this slow on the uptake?”

 

It takes him a few moments of staring at her to formulate a baffled, “Why?” that makes her run her hands through her hair in exasperation and push off the desk just to get some distance from him. Why is he making this so damned hard?

 

“I don’t know,” she retorts a little exasperated. “Why does anyone like anyone? Apart from the obvious” she limply waves a hand in his direction. “You’re smart and funny and you’re pretty good company.”

 

He runs his hands over his face and into his hair, dislodging his beanie and freeing the thick dark waves of hair she realises she’s never actually seen fully exposed. In different circumstances she thinks the sight would have stirred something lustful in her. He does have extraordinarily good hair, it’s bouncy and think and the shiniest black she’s ever seen. In other circumstances she could have wasted a few moments imagining the feel of it between her fingers. But he’s scowling at her again and she finds herself in no mood for indulging in fantasies.

 

“What’s the obvious?”

 

It takes her a few moments to realises what he’s asking and she gives a bark of dismissive laughter and clings tight to her illusion of confidence and sass. “You’re cute of course”

 

His eyes narrow at that and he pick up his messenger bag, replaces his beanie, and shoots her a withering look before walking out without a word leaving her to flop down gracelessly in the chair he just vacated and stare disconsolately at the wall. “Fuck”

 

If she could have avoided him after that she most certainly would have. But Betty and Archie are charmingly oblivious to the tension between the two of them and their efforts to escape at Pop’s the next evening are thwarted by warm open smiles and gentle insistences.

 

So, they find themselves forced into a booth side by side as Archie tells them about the songs he’s planning to playing at the dance tomorrow when he opens for the Pussy Cats. He’s excited and nervous and she does her best to listen and be supportive, but Jughead is right beside her glowering at his milkshake as if it’s done him a very personal wrong and her nerves are jangling like wind-chimes in a winter breeze

 

Betty disappears to talk to Ethel about a last-minute dance committee crisis and, damn her luck, Archie takes a call just at that moment leaving her alone with Jughead surrounded by a silence as thick as molasses but far from as sweet.

 

She pushes her half-eaten fries away, her stomach rejecting the idea of eating through her nerves, and she sees Jughead eye them for a moment before going back to stare at his own empty plate.

 

She slides them towards him and gives him an awkward close-lipped smile that he doesn’t return. He narrows his eyes, face taught with animosity and shoves the plate back at her silently.

 

“Seriously?” she snaps when he goes back to scowling at his milkshake. “You’re the one getting huffy right now”

 

He huffs noisily and, without seeming to recognise the blaring irony, say. “I’m not huffy Veronica, I’m just not playing your games”

 

“You think I’m playing?”

 

“‘You’re cute’, really?” he sneers, eyes dark and hostile “Come on”

 

She’d been ready for him to be embarrassed or even annoyed by having to reject her advances but this level of animosity shocks her and she stares wide eyed at him. “I-”

 

“You want to make Archie jealous,” he cuts in, full lips curling in ugly contempt. “At least pick someone vaguely believable to do it with, or at least someone who’ll buy your oh so generic list of things you like.”

 

“Why does everyone think I want Archie?” she asks the ceiling, exasperated.  “For the record, I really don’t. I’m not playing out some twisted teen drama jealousy plot here and I do actually think you’re cute. But you want something real? The real reason I asked you when I could have had, and I use the word advisedly, literally any guy in school? Fine”

 

She stands abruptly and looks down on him with burning eyes. “We’re the same Jughead. You and me, we’re the same”

 

Then she goes, head held high and fighting the urge to rush to the door. _Fuck him_ she thinks, she doesn’t need a date for the dance and she certainly doesn’t need to waste another second of her life flogging the dead horse of wanting Jughead Jones.

 

 

The dance looks ok, Veronica thinks the following evening as she enters the brightly decorated gymnasium. Kudos to Betty, ever the over achiever, for managing, with the liberal application of drapes and balloons, to bring to life the usually cold echoing space. It’s far from the Waldorf Astoria sure, but it’s ok.

 

Betty is already meeting and greeting and Archie is preparing for his set so she’s entering alone. Not that it bothers her, she’s Veronica Lodge and she turned down a dozen dates to come here stag. She’s also aware that she looks fantastic in the high necked, low backed gown she knows no one in this one pony town would recognise as the Stella McCartney original she wore to the HRC Gala last year.

 

She looks expensive and poised and she knows all eyes will follow her entrance, who needs a man blocking the spotlight anyway? In her clutch nestles a compact camera and a note book and she snaps a few pictures of the room before finding Betty and helping her charm the alumni while they wait for Archie to take to the stage.

 

Archie’s set is a roaring success. She dances with Betty, dodging Reggie and his bulldogs who, despite having dates of their own, seem to interpret her single status as some sort of mean girl play to have them at her feet.

 

Bulldog’s? she thinks. More like lapdogs. They buzz around her with their banal chat up lines and suggestive dance moves undeterred, or perhaps egged on, by her obvious disdain.

 

“Get lost Chuck,” she snaps when his hand falls uninvited on her waist and struts away to watch from the shadows as Archie finishes with an energetic rendition of Born in the USA that has students and alumni alike whooping and cheering.

 

She happily takes a few pictures of her friend smiling coyly as he gives a wave to the audience and she’s smiling too, content to have a moment of quiet observation, when she hears a voice behind her.

 

“He was actually pretty good”

 

She doesn’t turn around. “He was,” a pause. “It was nice of you to come and support him”

 

“I didn’t come for Archie,” his words set her heart racing and she’s glad she has her back to him. “Blood brother or no, school dances are beyond all reasonable friendship expectations”

 

“So why did you come?” she asks, gathering herself quickly in the wake of his unexpected appearance.

 

“How?” he’s moved closer, she keeps her eyes on the stage as the Pussy Cats enter to raucous cheers. Still his voice is clear, he’s so close she can feel it as much as hear it in her ear. “How could you possibly imagine we’re the same?”

 

She turns and he’s within reach. She could just slip her arms around his neck and they’d be dancing. She resists, tempting as the bold move might be, and looks at him through her lashes. “I’ll show you” she lifts a finger silencing him before he can respond, then turns that same hand palm up. “Dance with me and I’ll show you”

 

He narrows his eyes but there’s as much curiosity in them as there is suspicion so she holds his gaze and lifts her chin until he relents and takes her hand in his pulling her closer to him and slipping his free hand around her waist. Worldly and sophisticated she may be but on another level she’s still just a teenager with a crush and when his hands land on her body for the first time, his fingertips brushing on the exposed skin of her lower back, that teenager is virtually squealing with excitement.

 

She locks it down and sways her body lazily in time with his. They’re barely moving but she doesn’t care, she can feel the heat of his body close to hers and her hand, lying gently around his neck, is only inches away from getting a feel of his luxurious onyx hair.

 

“Ok, let’s start with them” she says when she’s enjoyed the closeness for as long as she thinks he’ll allow.

 

She indicates with her head backwards over her shoulder to where she knows Betty and Archie are standing. “Our best friends. The light we chose to offset the darkness we see in ourselves. The little bit of validation we need every day. Because if Betty and Archie like us, well, then we’re not all bad, right?”

 

He’s watching the golden pair while she speaks and when she’s done his eyes find hers again. Looking, she thinks, for the very first time, truly looking at her. “Different,” he counters and she gets a feeling the whole evening will play back and forth like this. “Betty and Archie are literally my only friends, you’ve got the whole school wrapped around your finger”

 

“I guess we both hide in plain sight in our different ways,” she shrugs enigmatically. “The fact remains we both trust exactly the same two people with the reality of who we are”

 

He hums non-committally and then, as if subconsciously manipulated by the drop in tempo as Josie begins to croon out a rat pack ballad, he pulls her fractionally closer to his body. She takes the opportunity to let her hand slip naturally upwards so that the very tips of her fingers are lost in the soft hair at the base of his skull.

 

There’s something intense about chasing him, something new to her. Seduction has always been so very easy and she’s been so bored by men for so long. Until him, resistant, and argumentative and yet, she sees it in his eyes now, becoming curious. And there’s the challenge; to turn that curiosity into fascination, to keep pulling him in without scaring him off. How thrilling.

 

“Ok,” he concedes the point and turns his head to find her eyes. She doesn’t pull back and the action brings their faces close together. In the low light there’s no discernible blue in his eyes but she’s still captivated by them, so pretty, so guarded. She wonders if she has that same fortress in her own gaze.  

 

“We’re both clever,” she continues her tone lighter, more playful and his lips twitch a little in response to her changing mood. “competitive, sharp witted-”

 

“Stubborn, smug, argumentative”

 

She laughs, “So negative. But you have to concede then to certain similarities of character”

 

“Perhaps,” he allows but his tone remains belligerent. “But in everything else. Our backgrounds, our outlook, we are fundamentally different.”

 

“Are we?” She questions challenges. “Aren’t we both the same mix or arrogance and pathological self-doubt?”

 

He narrows her eyes and she can almost see him formulating his comeback. He wants to prove her wrong. He’s getting lost in the game and she knows he’ll chase this back and forth for as long as it takes for him to win. He doesn’t see that the longer he plays the closer she gets, that her victory comes from keeping him playing until she can get under his skin the way he is under hers.

 

“Both wearing our chosen aesthetic like armour,” he frowns when she continues and she thinks perhaps she’s getting through to him. She idly runs a finger along the edge of his beanie. “Both clinging to our security blankets.”

 

The hand that was holding hers lets go and she panics, thinking she’s blown it already somehow, but he lifts his fingers to toy with the pearls around her neck in a tacit concession to her point.

 

“I could just as easily list the way’s we’re different,” he releases her pearls and massages the expensive fabric at the neckline of her dress between thumb and forefinger. “Social butterfly, park avenue princess,” he draws back a little and smirks tugging lightly on her collar and asks playfully. “Is this designer?”

 

She knows her eyes are twinkling as she purses her lips and steps back to give a twirl. “Naturally,” she moves back in and fingers his lapel. The suit is ill fitting, worn, and cheap. But looking at him in it, with his braces over his shoulders for once and not hanging off his hips, she knows he’d have looked amazing in her father’s classic Dior tux.

 

“Is this from Goodwill’s acclaimed fall line?” her tone is light and teasing and he does smile in response.

 

Still he takes the opportunity to make his point. “Score one for the differences right there then”

 

“Hmm maybe, but I have more,” she gives him a conspiratorial smile. “We’d have to get out of here though”

 

“You won’t hear me complaining, although don’t we owe Betty a story?” he asks with the attitude of someone looking to be persuaded.

 

She flaps a hand dismissively. “We’ll wing it. I’ll say it was great you can say it propagates social inequality, it’ll be exactly what Betty expects”

 

He tilts his head and his mouth quirks, giving a teasing glimpse of one of those rare toothy smiles she finds so incredibly sexy. “I thought I was here for a nuanced understanding of the American high school cliché”

 

“Not at all. You’re here for a nuanced understanding of Veronica Lodge,” she turns away feeling not nearly as confident in the assumption he’ll follow as she’s trying to appear. Still she fights the urge to look back and when she steps out into the sudden quite of the hallway she’s relieved that he’s right behind her.

 

She rings for Smithers who calls her Miss Veronica and Jughead sir and the dark teen raises his eyebrows pointedly but doesn’t speak. At her door, he leans against the wall in a way she imagines he doesn’t realise is distracting as hell, all lithe and languid, and James Dean sexy, and breaks his silence.

 

“You know, Miss Veronica,” he runs his thumbnail over his bottom lip and if she didn’t know better she’d imagine he was doing it on purpose, cranking up the sexy to put her on the back foot. But he’s Jughead Jones, a boy for whom the concept of being found cute could only be explained away as a manipulation, so she’s fairly confident he’s not deliberately taunting her.  Still his lip moves supplely under the slight pressure and she finds her gaze lingering on the movement. “If you’re trying to convince me we’re alike then the penthouse suite at the Pembrooke, might not be the best place to start”

 

“You sure?” she pushes the open door and calls loudly into the apartment. “Mom”

 

He looks around at the sumptuous décor as she calls out again. The room is achingly silent and when their eyes meet she knows hers are weighted and sombre. “Guess she’s not up”

 

His gaze slips away and falls on the small group of prescription pill bottles on the table by the sofa and she swallows hard. She has never been this vulnerable and there are old instincts telling her to raise her defences, but his expression is mercifully neutral and she knows that whatever he thinks of her by the end of the night, these secrets are safe with him.

 

“It’s not empty beer cans and bottles of Jack,” she says softly staring at the pills too. “But addiction is still addiction. Neglect is still neglect.”

 

He turns his head to look at her, his expression is soft, lips slightly parted and turned downwards at the corners. It’s not a great look on him to be honest, it makes his jaw seem poorly defined and his mouth slack, he’s definitely more handsome when he’s smiling and animated, but his expression manages to hold sympathy without pity and she feels a fine thread of understanding stretch between them.

 

“Anyway,” she straightens her shoulders and gives a little shake of her head, physically ridding herself of the emotional weight of the moment. “My mother’s valium coma is not why we came”

 

She takes his hand, feeling bold, and pulls him to her bedroom where she makes an expansive gesture with her free arm. “Ta-da”

 

He takes an audible breath as he slips her hold and wanders into the room, eyes roving over the floor to ceiling book cases that cover the entire left-hand wall. “Man, this is incredible”

 

She watches him as he runs his fingers along the spines, taking in the titles with obvious approval and she feels a surge of something unfamiliar. It takes a moment to recognise the feeling as a rush of genuine self-worth. Yes, she is more than a pretty face, she’s damn well read by any standards and he’s right to be impressed.

 

He squats down on his haunches when novels give way to blu-rays and begins scanning her film collection appreciatively. She knows it’s an impressive collection, art house, and noir, classic and indie and not a chick flick to be found.

 

Eventually he looks up at her from his place squatting on the ground and she comes and settles beside him on her knees the red satin of her dress splaying around her. “You’re welcome to borrow. Consider me your personal film library”

 

He shifts so he’s sitting and grins. “My laptop’s only got DVD”

 

“How tragically last decade,” she leans across him, noting with satisfaction that he doesn’t recoil from the closeness, and browses the small selection on the bottom shelf. “Well then you’re down to a few Korean language films and my mom’s old copy of Ghost Busters.”

 

“Never seen it”

 

“What?” She pulls the DVD free and looks at the familiar cover. “Oh my god I loved this as a kid, me and my mom used to watch it whenever one of us needed cheering up” She feels sadness crawling up her throat, threatening to make her voice come out thick. Those days seem so far away now, those days when she was unaware of her father’s mob connections or the sucking darkness in her mother that no prescription could erase. Before she herself bloomed into some dark manipulative version of herself.

 

Jughead’s watching her changing expressions curiously and even though she wants him to know her, to truly see her, the habits of self-preservation are hard to break and she gives a coy smile as waves the DVD at him. “We should totally watch it now”

 

He shrugs negligently. “Sure,” he says as he stands and offers her his hand. She holds it for a split second after he’s pulled her to her feet then lets go and leads him to the living room where her eyes land on her mother’s bedroom door.

 

“Actually, can we get out of here?” she gestures weakly to her mother’s door trying to convey with one limp wave of her hand how oppressively lonely she finds these nights. How she longs to crawl out of her own skin just to escape.

 

He understands of course. He is after all the guy who chose sleeping in the drive-in’s projection booth over living with his alcoholic father. No one in Riverdale can understand this pins and needles itch as well as he does, this jangling of nerves like a muted bad trip that makes you want to just start running and never look back.

 

“Ok. In fact,” he moves towards the door. “Why don’t I take you somewhere that’ll have _you_ telling _me_ how utterly different we are?”

 

She gives a shrug of agreement and studied nonchalance fighting back a victorious grin. She might not have her man just yet but she’s got him hooked on the game and for now that’ll be enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked. Where will Jughead take Veronica i wonder? Please leave a comment to let me know how you think I'm doing


	5. Closer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Veronica and Jughead share an evening in Sunnyside

 

Sunnyside trailer park is exactly as run down and depressing as she’d have imagined from the name which she assumes the town gave it with no small measure of irony.

 

Jughead says nothing as Smithers drops them of but she can see him bite his lip when she tells her driver. “Thank you Smithers I’ll call when I need you”

 

He opens the paint peeled door of the rusty trailer and leads her inside. “Give me a sec.”

 

She stands while he lights up a small gas fire she’s fairly certain is lethally unsafe and glances about. Noticing, in what passes for a kitchen, a large bin liner stuffed full of empty bottles and cans.

 

“Don’t worry,” he says following her gaze. “Dad’s outta town, I wouldn’t be here otherwise. You wanna drink or something?”

 

She shakes her head, still standing just inside the threshold. “I’m fine”

 

He lifts an eyebrow at her sudden reluctance, looking victorious and slightly smug. But maybe there’s a resignation, almost a disappointment in his voice when he says. “Well then Princess,” he flicks back the edges of his jacket and shoves his hands in his trouser pocket. “Ready to admitted defeat?”

 

“Not just yet,” she steps forward decisively, although yes, he’s right, there’s a part of her recoiling from the threadbare carpets, ratty furniture and the smell of mold spores and old booze in the air. “Not until you’ve shown me yours”

 

She doesn’t mean for it to come out like that but she’s a little glad it did because the innuendo has Jughead looking rabbit eyed and red blush nervous “Excuse me?”

 

She laughs softly, endeared by his reaction. “I mean your collection. I showed you mine, so...”

 

He sighs out his relief and quickly regains his composure enough to give her a sardonic look. “Living out of a back pack doesn’t allow for much in the way of a library”

 

“Then they’ll be the ones that really matter right?”

 

She watches him consider and accept her words with a shrug. “Ok”

 

There’s a handful of books in his backpack, another half dozen on a high shelf in the trailer. Animal Farm, Kafka’s Metamorphosis, a complete Edgar Alan Poe, she raises one eyebrow at the sight of Wuthering Heights and he smiles a lopsided smile. “Dark stuff”

 

She fingers the rest of the books, memorising the titles, storing away this private information for later. “I haven’t read this,” she tells him as she points out a battered copy of The Rubaiyet of Omar Khayyam.

 

His wry smile as he picks up the slim book has just a hint of grimace in it. “Every addict adjacent bibliophile should”

 

She gives him a curious look and he hands it to her. “Let me know what you think”

 

“I will”

 

The moment gets long and her throat gets a little tight so she gives a coy smile and waves the Ghostbusters DVD at him. “Wanna watch?”

 

He rolls his eyes looking somewhere between irritated and indulgent and she’s never felt closer to him. “So if I don’t love it do I win?” he asks as he pulls his laptop from a bag beside the couch.

 

“It’s not a competition Jones”

 

“Of course it is,” he smirks. “Lodge”

 

“Well in that case, no. If it doesn’t make you feel good you can say you won this round”

 

She slips off her long coat and settles beside him on the couch as he takes the disc, the air on her bare skin is chilled and she shivers.

 

“Sorry,” he looks embarrassed. “The heater’s crap, hang on”

 

He puts the laptop down beside her and disappears, returning a moment later with a thick blanket and heavy plaid shirt that’s soft with age and smells of his aftershave as she slips it over her arms and snuggles down into the lumpy couch with the blanket over their knees and the film playing on Jughead’s lap.

 

He bitches about the movie, mostly to get a rise out of her she thinks, but he laughs too and as the credits roll he lays his head back on the couch and she mirrors the action. He’s such a sloucher that their eyes are at the same level when he rolls his head to meet her gaze.

 

“So,” he concedes flashing his gaze to the ceiling. “I didn’t actively hate it”

 

“Are you admitting defeat Jones?”

 

“Sorry Miss Veronica, not just yet,” he pauses looking suddenly awkward. “Wanna watch something else?”

 

It’s late and he’d be well within his rights to call it a night so this, she thinks, is a very positive development. “Yes. You can chose, I need to use the bathroom?”

 

“You sure you want to risk it?” he says in that forced joking tone that doesn’t hide that he’s embarrassed. Ashamed, she thinks with a pang, of what isn’t his fault.

 

The bathroom is broom closet small and roadside grim. But there’s a strong smell of bleach over the lingering odour of old vomit and she thinks of the bin liner in the kitchen and can picture Jughead trying to make this shit hole habitable in his father’s absence. Her heart aches for him and when she emerges she feels pensive and solemn.

 

He notices the shift in her mood and swallows down some emotion that had clearly crawled so far up his throat that she hears the thick wet sound of him exerting control over it. “Ready to cry uncle?” he jokes as he watches her come closer with guarded eyes.

 

She draws her legs up on the couch as she settles beside him. “I guess I’ll concede that all this family shit is easier when you’re daddy’s a filthy rich mobster. At least I have a Smithers”

 

He tips his head and reaches out along the back of the sofa, nearly but not quite touching her. “That’s actually pretty depressing”

 

She rolls her eyes. “I meant to drive me and stock the fridge, not as a lame paid family substitute”

 

“Thank god, you almost had me feeling sorry for you for a minute there.”

 

Without thinking she gives his chest a playful flirtatious thump. She’s made that move before. The script goes that he should retaliate, maybe by grabbing her hand and letting the momentum of her weak attempt to escape slingshot her body back against his. Or, if he’s feeling particularly bold, with tickling fingers darting up her sides, teasingly close to the undersides of her breast as she squirms away from and against him.

 

It seems – surprise, surprise - that Jughead Jones hasn’t read the script. He rubs the assaulted area and gives her a mock glare. “Ow” he deadpans before turning back to the laptop on the table. “I was going to indulge you with Breakfast at Tiffany’s but to teach you violence doesn’t pay...”

 

He starts browsing through the films on the external hard drive he’s plugged into his laptop. “Lady of Shanghai?”

 

“Urgh no! That accent!”

 

He accepts that with an amused smile and keeps searching. Eventually they put on Dr Strangelove, because he loves Kubrick and she loves Sellers, and settle back, sitting a little closer together than before, on the couch.

 

She doesn’t remember falling asleep but when she wakes there’s flat grey light seeping in to the trailer and her neck is cricked and aching. She’s curled on the edge of the sofa her feet nestling in Jughead’s lap where he’s splayed out against the other armrest, and the blanket pulled up around her chin.

 

She sits up and looks at him. His beanie’s gone missing somewhere in the night and his dark hair is sticking up at odd gravity defying angles. Sleep, like sympathy, doesn’t suit him. His features are at once too soft - the indistinct line of his jaw and slack fall of his mouth - and too hard - the slight point of his nose the jarring contrast of pale skin and dark shadows beneath his eyes. But the opportunity to look closely is rare so she watches him breathe for a few moments, memorising his imperfections, until she starts to feel like a creep, then she carefully disentangles her feet from where his arm has fallen over her ankles and stands. He shifts and mumbles in his sleep as she slips on her coat on over the plaid shirt she’s still wearing and escapes into the pre-dawn light.

 

When she catches up with Betty later in the day she doesn’t mention Jughead. “I couldn’t find you when the lights came up” she lies smoothly ashamed to find herself still so very good at it. Somehow she doesn’t want her friend to know about her night in Jughead’s trailer, it feels too fragile, indistinct, like by Monday she’ll be convinced she dreamt the whole thing.

 

Betty’s easily distracted anyway. She’s all Archie, Archie, Archie after the dance they’d shared and the way he’d winked at her as he’d left the stage. Not for the first time she gets the strong urge to shake that ginger boy till his teeth rattle and some sense comes loose in his pretty head.

 

That evening she sits down in front of her laptop ready to write up the dance for the Blue and Gold. Her fingers hover indecisively over the keys. Below the title the word ‘by’ stares back at her and the cursor flashes tauntingly. She runs her late last night conversation with Jughead over in her head.

 

“So, if we fool Betty,” she’d given him a saucy challenging look and pressed her knee against his. “I win, you concede we actually do know each other pretty well, and you buy me a double chocolate milkshake from Pop’s”

 

“And, if Betty takes one look at it and knows we switched,” he responds argumentative as ever but with a slight return of pressure against her leg and with less flint and more warmth in his gaze than ever before. “Which by the way she will. I win, you concede we know nothing about each other and you buy me two bacon cheese burgers, curly fries and a gallon of coffee to get me through all nighting my own article.”

 

“Deal,” she’d agreed as they’d shaken hands on the pact to write each others Homecoming articles. “Although I’m still not sure why my potential Pop’s bill is six times yours”

 

“Because this is your crazy idea and you’re rolling in Daddy’s ill gotten gains ”

 

She runs her hands down the front of his stolen shirt, which she’s wearing directly against her skin, and types the words ‘Jughead Jones’

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the lovely people who left reviews and kudos, it makes me happy happy.
> 
> Hope this chapter works for you :-)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, this chapter was a bit of a slog to write and still feels a little off, I don't know. Let me know what you think
> 
> Anyway posting an update from my holibobs in lovely france after several glasses of cabernet franc has made me bolder so here it is

She can see Archie and Betty through the window at Pop’s as she approaches, sitting opposite one another and smiling their bright small town smiles. Archie’s talking and bless her smitten heart Betty’s gazing at him adoringly and nodding. She feels a stab of pity for the blonde before realising, with a stab of humiliation, that she’s in not such a different situation herself. Although, she at least prides herself on taking the battle to Jughead and not simply waiting, cow eyed and breathless, for her moment with him.

 

“Veronica,” Jughead appears from round the side of the diner and she startles violently, hand flying to her chest in shock.

 

“Jesus Jughead,” She scolds, embarrassed by her reaction.

 

He grins, obviously pleased to see her ruffled, and holds up a thumb drive. “Well?”

 

She pulls her own thumb drive from the front pocket of her bag and they make the switch, his fingers brushing over her palm. “Moment of truth” he says with a smirk and a sparkle in his eyes

 

Inside Betty manages to drag her attention away from Archie long enough to take their articles. “I didn’t even see you last night,” she tells Jughead, turning to face him with a warm chiding look.

 

As so often around Betty he smiles a little goofily and Veronica thinks, with a sinking swamp-like sensation in her stomach, that maybe he likes her. Maybe the four of them are destined for some ludicrous love square where Jughead moons after the blonde, who dotes on Archie, who lusts after her, because she’s not so blind as not to have noticed that he does, who just can’t seem to get Jughead out from under her skin.

 

If that happens, she thinks, her only option will be to move back to New York and take up her mean girl ways again.

 

“I lurked, Betty. I was there purely to observe,” Jughead declares while stealing a significant handful of fries from the blonde’s plate and Betty’s answering laugh is both sad and indulgent.

 

“You really just sat on your own all night? Couldn’t you have talked to someone Jug?” Betty asks but there’s no real conviction in it. Veronica imagines she holds out little hope of persuading Jughead to make any kind of social effort.

 

“Absolutely not!” He catches her eye out of the corner of his and there’s something conspiratorial in his gaze, something secret that’s just theirs. The switched articles in Betty’s bag, the lies they’re both telling about leaving the dance together, this game of theirs is beginning to feel deliciously illicit.

 

Veronica arches an eyebrow. “Well at least you saw Archie’s set, which,” She turns and lays her hand on Archie’s forearm. “Was fabulous by the way Archiekins”

 

“She’s not wrong dude,” Jughead agrees giving his friend a wink and the closest thing to a compliment he’s likely to get.

 

Archie beams. “Thanks guys”

 

They talk about the dance. She does a good job of making the right noises so as not to give away that she wasn’t there for half of it and Jughead keeps silent, gaze focused on his double order of fries, until Betty says. “Oh, by the way V, I heard Ginger going off at Chuck for hitting on you so she may be extra bitchy at practice this week”

 

Jughead looks up sharply and maybe it’s wishful thinking to imagine that his brows pinch together and his gaze darkens. Maybe she’s just superimposing the jealously she’d love to evoke onto his brooding features.

 

“So Chuck being sleazy is somehow my fault,” she rolls her eyes extravagantly. “Marvelous, feminism at work again”

 

Jughead snickers and stands. “Right, I'm outta here. Let me know if there are any problems with the article, ok Betts”

 

“Problems?” Betty asks with a questioning shake of her head.

 

He doesn’t look at Veronica but she feels his focus on her all the same as he responds enigmatically. “You know, grammatical errors, typos, mixed metaphors”

 

“I’m sure your article will be thoroughly proof read Jughead” Veronica says haughtily ignoring Betty’s quizzical look as she turns to face the blonde. “If the vocabulary in my is lacking Betty, let me know early enough that I can make improvements before we go to print”

 

Jughead glares at her. He’s fiercely proud of his admittedly impressive vocabulary and provoking him over it is entertaining. She looks innocently up at him and says in a honey and vinegar voice. “Chao Jughead”

 

Betty looks at her strangely but before the blonde can speak Archie draws their attention with news that the Pussy Cats invited him to work on some songs with them and Betty’s attention is back on the redhead. “Wow Archie, that’s great”

 

The next morning, she gets to the Blue and Gold offices to find Betty already half way through the print run. “Hey V,” the blonde greets with a bright smile. “Can you help me fold?”

 

“Sure,” she picks up some pages looking for the article Jughead wrote in her name. The headline catches her eye. “Not the MET Ball, but...” it reads and underneath she quickly scans the line. “A night to remember none the less,” and runs her eyes of the photo spread. Though God knows where Jughead got all those pictures, and has to admit the overall effect is exactly as she’d have wanted it.

 

“You liked it?” she asks Betty innocently.

 

“Yeah V it was great,” Betty gives her a beaming smile. “You should check out Jughead’s article too”

 

At that moment Jughead materialises in the doorway. “It was OK? My article”

 

Betty frowns. “My God, going head to head has really got to you two. Both your articles were perfect and it’s so good to have both for the paper today, OK?”

 

They both nod and shoot each other a quick appraising look before they begin folding papers in silence. “Ah shoot” Betty grabs her bag. “I have to go. Wetherbee wants to see me before first period.”

 

“It’s fine B, we’ve got this”

 

As soon as Betty leaves she rounds on Jughead with a gloating grin. “Ah, the delectably sweet taste of victory in the morning”

 

He scowls and throws open a newly folded paper. “Let’s see it. You better not be damaging my brand Lodge”

 

“Please,” she rolls her eyes but she’s smirking even as she feigns irritation.  “If our editor in chief couldn’t tell no one will. Where did you get all these pictures?”

 

“I have heard of instagram you know,” he retorts churlishly, clearly smarting from losing this round as he begins to read her article and she settles down with his.

 

Despite that she was the one out to prove a point with this little switch she’s still shocked at how perfectly he’s aped her style. The cadence of the writing, the flamboyant metaphors and good-natured superiority of tone. He's read her articles she realises. For all his disdain of fashion and gossip he’s actually read what she’s written and taken enough notice to be able to mimic her.

 

The thought pleases her and she smiles over at him as he looks up from his copy. He narrows his eyes in response. “Not bad,” he concedes reluctantly and she laughs lightly.

 

“Oh, admit it. It was fun writing as each other.”

 

He shrugs noncommittally, “It was certainly challenging”

 

“Tell me about it,” she quirks her lips wickedly. “Having to work in _so_ many semi-colons was exhausting”

 

He looks affronted and she laughs at him again and, feeling a little giddy with confidence after her victory, steps forward and lays a hand boldly on his chest. She deliberately glances at his mouth and licks her lips, his eyes track the movement of her tongue making her victory feel complete. “You owe me a milkshake,” she demures holding his gaze for a brief moment before she spins away and walks out with a click of her heels and a swing of her hips.

 

It feels different, like something has shifted between them and the thought puts a lift in her mood all the way till lunch when she slides in opposite him and flashes him a brief girlish smile that he returns with a crooked quirk of his mouth.

 

Before she can speak Cheryl Blossom appears at the head of their table with a hand on her hip and her waterfall of crimson hair flowing like blood over her shoulder. As usual she has to fight not to let the swell of dislike she feels rise in her stomach at the sight of the redhead show; reminding herself for the millionth time that Cheryl is grieving and to cut the bitch some slack.

 

“Really Betty,” Cheryl sneers, and how can someone so beautiful look quite this ugly? “Pasta? You know as a vixen your dietary extravagances impact all of us”

 

Jughead and Archie turn as one in Betty’s defence each spitting out Cheryl’s name with matching anger. The redhead dismisses them with a perfunctory look and an elegant wave of her slender fingers. “You better have the steps right for this weekend Elizabeth. We can’t have the team let down by any under achievers”

 

Betty nods meekly and Veronica notices her hand clenching on the table. “We’ve been practicing”

 

“Yes,” she interjects giving Cheryl a poisonous smile. “Betty’s been helping me work on the twisting pike dismount you wanted. We’re so lucky to have her, I wouldn’t trust anyone else with that launch.”

 

Check mate she thinks. If Cheryl wants her big city flare at the top of her small-town pyramid she’ll have to make a tactical retreat from this. Cheryl smiles at Betty, fake and sugary. “I suppose it is useful to have a few solid girls for the lifts. Keep up the good work” she sing-songs. “Ta-ta”

 

Ok, maybe Cheryl has a few counter punches in her arsenal after all. She looks commiseratingly at Betty who just smiles and rolls her eyes. “Thanks, V”

 

Veronica has a free period a little later that she knows she shares with Jughead so she heads to the office in the hope of running into him. He’s sitting at his desk typing indolently on his laptop but he stands when she enters almost as if he’d been waiting for her and shoves his hands awkwardly in to his pockets. “Hey”

 

“Hey”

 

She busies herself setting down her bag and turning on her computer and tries to ignore the feel of his eyes on her. When he eventually speaks his voices is low and his expression bashful.

 

“Veronica, I” he swallows the nervous sound making her bite her lip against a hopeful wave of anticipation. “I wanted to thank you, for everything you do for Betty.”

 

“Oh,” she tries not to let her disappointment show. “Well, of course, she’s Betty so-“

 

“She needs it I think,” he elaborates. “The cheerleading, the girl talk. Arch and I try but she needs this too, especially with how insane things are with the case and with Polly not around”

 

Ah yes, the case. The ongoing murder investigation. The stealth operation that has Jughead and Betty whispering to one another just out of earshot of the rest of them. The reason their high school newspaper office has a murder board that no one understands but the two amateur sleuths.

 

“Betty’s my best friend,” she replies. What he’s saying may not be what she’d wanted to hear, may even be the confirmation she’s dreaded that he likes her friend, but none of that diminishes her affection for Betty. “Also, literally the best person I’ve ever met. She deserve it, she deserves-“

 

“Everything,” Jughead finishes sincerely. “Yes, she does. So, thank you”

 

She nods and he shuffles awkwardly on the spot. “Anyway,” he gestures to her desk and the tall cup she hadn’t noticed before. “To the victor go the spoils.”

 

Her disappointment solidifies into something cold and heavy in her chest as she picks up the milkshake. She’d just been beginning to think he was warming up to her, they’ve shared secrets in the dead of night, she’d woken up with her feet in his lap and his shirt against her skin. But today he won’t shut up about Betty and while she’s as staunch a believer in Plato’s dialogues as the next feminist the non-too subtle _no date_ subtext of the takeout milkshake on her desk has he mind racing down jealous juvenile paths.

 

She obviously doesn’t hide her disappointment as well as she should because he shifts his weight and seems to slump his shoulders even more. “You ok?”

 

“Of course,” her tone is bright and brittle and he frowns in response.

 

“Did, er, did I do something wrong?”

 

She forces her face into an expression of indifference. “Of course not”

 

“Juggie,” Betty rushes in clutching her phone in her hand. “I’ve got it. You ready? Oh, hey V”

 

Jughead’s already heading to the door as she greets Betty and doesn’t even look back as he follows the blonde out.

 

The next morning in the student lounge they all listen dumbstruck to the story. Polly is pregnant, a prisoner of what sounds like a Dickensian caricature of evil nuns from another century. A getaway car, drugs, a mysterious fire.

 

“What if Polly’s really hurt?” Betty laments looking pale and shaken. Jughead looks worriedly at her and slips his arm comfortingly around her shoulder. Betty lifts her hand to absently toy with his fingertips where they lie against the pink cashmere of her sweater.

 

It’s a move so unusual for Jughead and accepted so naturally by Betty that Veronica spots Archie’s exaggerated double take out of the corner of her eye and has to fight not to react in the same way.

 

The jealousy that had been formless and indistinct settles in her chest. A malignant octopus seething at her centre and sending out it’s many arms to churn the contents of her stomach, flush her skin, and clog her throat.

 

Betty is her priority she reminds herself. Her loyalty is to the blonde and the friendship she’s offered. If Jughead likes her and if Betty likes him back. Well then, the new Veronica Lodge will suck it up, plaster on a smile, and wish them well.

 

She resists the urge to quiz the Betty as the head to class and instead offers only her support. “Anything you need B, just say it”

 

“Thanks V”

 

It turns out what Betty needs is for her to go with Jughead to the bus depots in town and over in Greendale and flash Polly’s picture around.

 

“I am not getting on that death trap,” she tells him decisively when she finds him after school leaning against what must be his father’s old motorcycle. He’s just taken off his helmet and his hair is falling in messy waves over his eyes. He’s wearing a leather jacket and a knowing smirk and she’s not sure how she’s ever going to get the image out of her hormone saturated mind.

 

“Scared Lodge?”

 

“No,” the denial comes automatically despite that, hell yes, she’s scared of getting on a bike that probably hasn’t had a safety check in a decade with a boy who certainly doesn’t have a license. “But the good people at Channel do not design their pencil midi dresses with pillion riding in mind. I’ll call Smithers”

 

There’s an unusually heavy traffic on the road out to Greendale and Jughead looks over at her with a scowl. “We’d be there already if you weren’t too chicken to get on the bike”

 

She gives him a scathing look. “I’d be happy to ride it anytime that I’m wearing pants”

 

“Clever,” he’s smirking again and pointedly trailing his eyes over the fitted lines of her dress. “You never do”

 

She shrugs smugly. “Only for my weekend spin class. If you’re up at 7am on a Saturday I’d be perfectly happy to take a ride.”

 

He laughs, it’s a little husky and his eyes are playful as he replies with a wink. “Sure you would”

 

She chooses to ignore him, and the confusing sense that he’s flirting with her, and focus on the mission. Which turns out to be a waste of time, Polly hasn’t left Riverdale by bus. Has never, in fact, got any further than Betty’s attic.

 

With the drama over and Polly home she feels their collective sigh of relief when the four friends linger at their lockers the next morning. That easy sense of clam doesn’t even last till the first period, shattered as it is by Principle Wetherbee’s tense voice coming over the school’s PA. “Jughead Jones report to the principal’s office immediately. Jughead Jones to the principal’s office”

 

Less than ten minutes later she spots him through her classroom window being led away by Sheriff Keller and one of his deputies. She slams her calculus text book shut and, ignoring her teacher calling her back, takes off after him.

 

She gets ahead of them, heels be damned she’s a whippet when she needs to be, and blocks their path at the door. “Sheriff Keller what’s going on?”

 

The Sheriff lets out a long-suffering sigh, the teenagers of Riverdale are clearly trying his patience, and opens his mouth to dismiss her but he’s beaten too it by Jughead’s frightened quavering voice. “I didn’t do it Veronica, I swear I didn’t”

 

“Of course you didn’t”

 

“Excuse me Miss,” Sheriff Keller makes a gesture that she should get out of the way and she throws him a withering look before turning back to Jughead.

 

“He can’t question you without an attorney, so don’t say _anything_ , ok,” Jughead nods but his expression is skittish and she knows her words aren’t getting through. “Jughead listen to me, it’s ‘no comment’ until you get a lawyer. Got it?”

 

His eyes focus on her and he nods just as the sheriff pushes past her and leads him away.

 

Immediately she pulls her phone from her purse and searches her contacts. “Uncle John,” she greets. “It’s Veronica, yes thank you I’m very well. How’s auntie Beth?”

 

She listens as patiently as she can to her uncle telling her about the recent successes of his wife’s prestigious New York marketing firm before she finally gets a chance to cut to the chase.

 

“Uncle John, do you still have an office in Centerville?”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So your first crush was Archie Andrews?” she nods and purses her lips against a smile. “Interesting. How about your second?”
> 
> His eyes find hers and something smoulders enticingly in the blue, “That was much later”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its late and I need to sleep. I can't think of anything noteworthy other than to thank, as always, everyone who's reading, commenting or kudosing.

Chapter 7

 

When she finally gets to the sheriff’s station Betty and Archie are already pacing anxiously in the waiting area. Betty is wringing her hands with self-recrimination as if it’s her fault this hick sheriff can’t see past a trailer park upbringing and, apparently, a juvie conviction for attempted arson.

 

“Stop it B,” she tells her friend firmly. “None of this is your fault. Now tell me, what’s going on? They better not have tried to question him without a lawyer”

 

“No. Dad’s trying to get a hold of my mom,” Archie tells her. “But there’s a state lawyer on his way.”

 

“Not necessary, I have it covered,” she assures them just as the door opens and a tall dark gentleman in an expensive suit walks in.

 

“Miss Lodge?”

 

“Yes”

 

The lawyer extends his hand. “Your uncle asked me to make coming here a priority”

 

She breathes a sigh of relief and shakes the lawyer’s hand firmly before leading him over to the desk. “Mr Wilks of Emerson and Wise Associates,” he introduces himself smoothly. “I’m here to represent,” he checks his papers. “Forsythe Jones”

 

“Please don’t worry Miss Lodge,” Mr Wilks offers in a businesslike tone. “I’m confident this can be resolved quickly”

 

She nods and watches as Sheriff Keller appears to show the lawyer in. The Sheriff takes in his tailored suit and confident posture and sighs. Screw you Keller she thinks, Jughead Jones is not going to be an easy mark for you to pin this on, not if she has anything to say about it. Keller looks at her, clearly well aware of who’s responsible for this, and she gives him a nasty smile.

 

True to his word the lawyer is leading Jughead out of the interrogation room just ten minutes later. He turns to Veronica. “Is Mr Jones’ father available? Someone needs to sign his release forms.”

 

Jughead looks around, deflating visibly at the painful absence of his father and her heart aches for him and for how his life can be at once so much like and so much worse than hers.

 

“Mr Andrews is an old friend of the family,” Betty suggests, eager as ever to help her friends. “Could he do it?”

 

“Yes, absolutely”

 

Fred gets up and wordlessly gives Jughead’s shoulder a squeeze before following the lawyer to the desk and Jughead is immediately sandwiched between Betty and Archie in an awkward three-way hug that he pretends to hate but she can see him fighting a smile.

 

Mr Wilks comes over to shake her hand again. “Thank you,” she says with a gracious professional smile. “I’ll be sure to let my uncle know how efficiently you dealt with this misunderstanding.”

 

“I’d appreciate that Miss Lodge, Good day”

 

“Uncle?” Jughead materialises beside her and she turns to meet his grateful gaze.

 

“My godfather, actually, and an old friend of the family,” she gives a blasé shrug as if it’s perfectly normal for teenagers to have a prestigious law firm at their disposal. “I thought I’d use daddy’s shady mob connections to uphold justice for once.”

 

“Ready Jug” Fred calls and Jughead shifts awkwardly.

 

“Coming Mr Andrews,” he hesitates. “I’m staying at Archie’s for a while,” he explains unnecessarily, seeming a little shy. “I guess if you’re at Betty’s at all, I’ll see you”

 

Veronica feels her lips pull upward at his words, perhaps she does need a study date with Betty sooner rather than later. “I guess you will.”

 

She manages to manipulate Betty into inviting her over on Friday evening and finds herself in her friend’s pastel coloured room perched on the window seat and surreptitiously keeping an eye on the bedroom window opposite.

 

Betty’s absorbed in the minutia of the drafting of the Declaration of Independence when Veronica finally notices movement in Archie’s bedroom. Jughead is standing with his back to the window and she can make out each distinctive point on his beanie. No wonder Betty’s obsessed with Archie, she thinks, if she’s had this clear a view into his bedroom since kindergarten.

 

As if sensing her gaze Jughead turns around and looks directly at her. She’s never been one to look blushingly away when caught looking at a guy and she’s not about to start now. So, she holds his gaze and tips her head a little in acknowledgment.

 

He scratches the back of his neck and she can clearly make out his bashful smile before he drops his head and quickly types something on his phone.

 

Betty’s phone gives a cheerful beep and Veronica keeps her eyes locked with Jughead’s as Betty checks the message. “The boys are about to order Pizza, you wanna head over?”

 

“Sure,” she replies without looking away from the window and she sees Jughead check his phone and flash her a toothy smile before disappearing from sight.

 

An hour later they’re lounging in Archie’s living-room sipping root beer floats and sharing childhood stories.

 

Betty’s just finished affectionately embarrassing Archie with a story about an ill-fated attempt to bake his mother a birthday cake that makes her laugh and feel a little sad simultaneously

 

“You ok V?” Betty asks when her expression reflects the slightly melancholic turn of her thoughts.

 

“Yeah. It’s just,” she pauses and gives a little rueful shrug, embarrassed by the self-indulgence of her thoughts. “You guys have been joined at the hip since kindergarten, there’s so much the new girl doesn’t know”

 

“Ask us anything,” Archie offers with a charming boyish smile and a flirtatious lift of his eyebrows that she chooses not to notice.

 

“Of course,” Betty sits up, attentive and eager to please. “We’ll tell you anything you want to know?”

 

“We will?” Jughead asks looking sideways at his friends in clear displeasure.

 

“Yeah, come on Jug,” Archie punches his friend playfully in the shoulder. “Her big shot lawyer already dished your real name what else do you have to hide?”

 

“Fine,” he rolls his eyes and slurps his root beer mutinously. “Ask away”

 

“Hmm,” she ponders for a second. “Worst childhood fear?”

 

“Starting dark Lodge?” Jughead lifts an eyebrow and lounges back on his elbows.

 

“Well I was thinking something like spiders or Nanny from the Muppet Babies, so-”

 

Archie laughs, “You were scared of Nanny?”

 

“We never saw her face Archiekins,” she explains with exaggerated patience. “I shudder to think what she was hiding?”

 

“Well it’s easy for all of us anyway,” Archie gives Betty a wink. “Alice Cooper”

 

Betty gives an theatrical shudder and Jughead whispers, “The horror”

 

The atmosphere is warm and relaxed and she feels brave as she asks. “Ok, first crush?”

 

Betty and Archie smile warmly at each other. And answer in unison, “Betty,” “Archie”

 

Jughead catches her eye and smirks. “Riverdale Kindergarten’s very own Pyramus and Thisbe”

 

Betty’s eyes are shining when she drags her gaze away from Archie’s.  “What about you V?”

 

She hams up a dreamy infatuated sigh. “His name was Maximilian Carrington-Wise, he was a debonair second grader with a TAG Heuer watch and a British accent. Believe me competition was fierce for that one, but Veronica Lodge won the day”

 

They all laugh and Jughead snorts. “Of course she did.”

 

“What about you Forsythe,” she asks teasingly. “First crush?”

 

“Didn’t have one,” he shrugs negligently and she wonders if that’s a lie, if he’s really just avoiding having to say it was Betty all along.

 

She wants to let it go but she’s also never been much good at letting sleeping dogs lie and she finds herself pushing him for an answer. “Seriously, no one? You never had a kindergarten fake wedding?”

 

Archie grins suddenly. “There was that one time”

 

“Oh my God,” Betty laughs. “I’d forgotten about that”

 

She looks at them questioningly

 

“Jug and I were engaged once,” Archie tells her with a grin.

 

She turns with an amused look to an unembarrassed Jughead. “Betty dumped him,” he explains. “For Reggie Mantle”

 

“Hey,” Betty defends laughingly. “Reggie had a brand new batman scooter and he said he’d let me ride it if I married him”

 

“Elizabeth Cooper,” Veronica widens her eyes as she plays out her response as more impressed than outraged. “You gold digger”

 

“Archie was upset so I said I’d marry him,” Jughead elaborates with a lopsided shrug. “Seemed logical enough at the time”

 

“Jug’s dad and my mom almost fricking died laughing,” Archie takes up the anecdote with a fond look at his old friend.  “And my dad was really trying to say the right thing”

 

She can picture Fred Andrews’ reaction perfectly and she finds herself wondering what Jughead’s dad looks like. Handsome, she imagines, in a rugged biker gang kind of way. “So, what happened to this epic tale of young love?” she asks looking between the two boys marveling at how love and history can bind together two people so obviously mismatched.

 

“It didn’t last,” Archie replies with a heavy sigh. “Jug ate his engagement ring”

 

She gives the dark-haired boy a scolding look and he shrugs unrepentantly. “It was a sour gummy”

 

“So your first crush was Archie Andrews?” she nods and purses her lips against a smile. “Interesting. How about your second?”

 

His eyes find hers and something smoulders enticingly in the blue, “That was much later”

 

She’d convinced herself he had a thing for Betty, but the look in his eyes tonight when he and Betty have shared a smile over some schoolyard reminiscence had held the warmth of a  summer’s day and not the blue fire she sees burning in them now.

 

She bites her lip and quickly turns away. She’s never felt so rudderless in matters of the heart, but she finds he casts her adrift in an ocean of confusion that all her experience can’t help her navigate. Her sudden move coincides with Archie standing up and his leg bumps her root beer so that it ends up all over her cream Prada blouse rendering the silk transparent and clinging to her skin.

 

“Shit Ronnie,” Archie apologises urgently. “I’m sorry”

 

He moves as if to try and wipe her blouse but she lifts a hand to check the futile and potentially embarrassing move. “Not a problem Archiekins. Nothing a little dry cleaning can’t fix.”

 

She knows the wet fabric is giving a good view of her lace bra and the curve of her breast. If the way Archie’s eyes keep darting downward is anything to go by she thinks the image must be more than a little provocative and it takes all her composure not to try and see if Jughead is checking her out too.

 

She peels the fabric away from her skin, just to stop Archie’s head from exploding with the effort of not staring at her tits and laughs lightly as he apologises again.

 

“It’s fine. All I need is a shirt to borrow and somewhere to change”

 

“Yeah yeah of course. My room’s the second on the left,” Archie says indicating to the stairs. “Just grab anything form the drawers, then it should be clean”

 

In Archie’s room an air matters lies on the ground and tucked alongside it is the large backpack she recognises as Jughead’s. The top is thrown messily open and a faded grey t-shirt adorned with a large S spills from the top.

 

She peels off her soaking blouse and bra and pulls the t-shirt over her head. An enticing smell of boy clings to the fabric, cheap deodorant and a hint of the same aftershave that has faded from the plaid shirt she still hasn’t returned to him.

 

Maybe, she thinks, she’ll give that one back to him and just keep stealing ones that smell like him. She tucks the t-shirt into her pencil skirt and smooths it down so that the thin fabric pulls taught over her breasts highlighting their curves.

 

When she re-enters the lounge Archie’s gaze lingers skittishly on the points of her nipples pushing at the thin fabric while Jughead takes in what should be the provocative sight of her bear breast against his clothes and simply scowls. “That’s mine” he says indignantly and she’s hit once again by how strange and different he is from any other boy she’s ever met. How predictably unpredictable, how utterly un-clichéd.

 

“Sorry,” she doesn’t even attempt to sound regretful. “It was the first thing I saw”

 

“You know I own exactly three shirts, right?”

 

“I’ll return it tomorrow, or were you planning on wearing all three tonight?” her voice hovers on the border between catty and sassy and Archie and Betty turn their faces towards one another as they laugh at their friends’ bickering.

 

She sees Jughead register the intimate moment then he stands and glares moodily at her. “Fine. Far be it from me to disavow you of your expectation of privilege. You can at least help me make another round, unless that’s too far below you princess” he gathers their glasses and indicates for her to lead the way into the kitchen. The sound of Betty and Archie giggling following them as they go.

 

Once in the kitchen he sets the glasses down and leans against the counter. “How long do we have to stay out here do you think?”

 

She gives him a confused look and he explains churlishly. “Kevin’s orders. Apparently Barchie is rising and my, quote, ‘constant lurking’ is an unacceptable obstacle.”

 

“Hmm,” she muses ambling into the room. “I may have missed that particular briefing. No matter,  Veronica Lodge is nothing if not adaptable. Five minutes is probably the optimun period.”

 

They fall silent and she watches his face trying to decipher his feelings on the subject. He looks moody but no more than usual so she does what she always does and gets to the point. “So we’re all team Barchie then?”

 

“Apparently,” he grumbles. “Which is basically asking me to try and set up my brother and sister. But if it makes them happy, I guess I’ll manage to keep my lunch down.”

 

Her laugh is a mixture of amused and relieved and when it fades she finds herself unable to think of a single thing to say to the cantankerous handsome boy in front of her who’s definitely not pining after Betty and who just might, if the look in his eyes earlier is anything to go by, be at least vaguely interested in her.

 

Jughead picks at his nails and finally speaks without looking up. “Veronica, about the other day, with Keller,” he looks up shyly through long dark lashes and pauses, his hesitance pulling her towards him  so that when he continues she’s only a step away from him. “Thank you”

 

She gives him a warm gracious smile. “Not a problem. Veronica Lodge is available for all your legal needs. Mi attourney et su attourney.”

 

He doesn’t smile back and his eyes bore into hers. “No, not for that.” he says  his voice a soft juxtaposition to the intensity of his gaze. “Thank you for believing me.”

 

She’s shocked that he thinks he needs to thank her for that. “Of course Jughead,” she presses forward so shes almost but not quite touching him and her voice drops to a low intimate tone as she tries to convey her sincerity. The one hundred percent conviction she has in his innocence. “Never a doubt.”

 

He visibly swallows down his emotions and nods. He’s still shaken she realises by having had the finger of blame for a murder pointed at him. Christ, she could righteously slap Sheriff Keller for putting him in a position where he has to protest his innocence even to her.

 

“Hey,” she does touch him then, when his gaze falls away. She uses the tips of her fingers to tilt his head back up so she can look into his eyes with conviction. “Sheriff Keller is a joke. He had no right or reason to arrest you and if he tries to scapegoat you again my uncle, who is incidentally the reason my father is serving two years instead of ten for some extremely illegal activity, will hang him out to dry for harassment, I promise.”

 

“Thank you,” he says softly then his eyes sparkle with that rare playfulness that when it appears always blindsides her and makes her smile despite any efforts to suppress it. He moves quickly surprising her by laying his hands on her waist and  spinning her so she’s pinned lightly against the counter. “And I suppose your personal Tom Hagen will get you off this larceny charge I’m thinking of pressing?”

 

He releases his grip on her waist almost immediately and fingers the fabric of his t-shirt. She knows that flirtation and innuendo generally don’t go over well with him but the way he’d looked at her earlier, the way he has her backed up against the counter, she prides herself on knowing enough about men not to be misreading this.

 

“Oh my God, you’d think the loan of a shirt would be small price to pay for top notch legal intervention”

 

“You would,” he muses eyes traveling, finally, over her breasts where her nipples have pebbled with the rush of excitement. “But this is my favourite, I'll miss it”

 

“Take it back then,” she throws down a challenge that’s really an invitation. “If you’re so bothered”

 

“Playing chicken Veronica?” he asks huskily as he tugs on the shirt, partially dislodging it from the waistband of her skirt.

 

She lifts an eyebrow, schooling her expression into something cooly unaffected as if her blood isn’t rushing wildly in her veins and threatening to show itself under the surface of her cheeks. “We Lodges are bred not to waver”

 

“Be careful Veronica, you’re not the only one with bad blood in their veins, haven’t you heard-” he bunches one side of the shirt in his fist pulling it upwards so his knuckles brush the skin of her waist. She holds his gaze which is unfamiliar in its intensity, she’s never seen him look so confident and as he leans closer, eyes locked on hers she’s certain he’s going to kiss her. He diverts the movement at the last minutes and brings his mouth to her ear. “A snake never blinks”

 

He pulls the shirt completely free and his hands slip underneath to lie warm and rough on her skin and their faces hover heartracingly close. He’s going to kiss her, he’s absolutely one hundred percent definitely about to kiss her and her belly is fluttering with anticipation when Archies voice comes bellowing in from the lounge

 

“Whats the delay on these drinks?”

 

Jughead jumps like a scolded cat, releasing her waist and stepping hurriedly away, the self-confidence that had been thrumming in his body a moment before falling away like a hastily discarded coat.

 

“Coming,” she calls back and tries to catch Jughead’s eye but he won’t look at her as he refills the glasses so she simply grabs the ice cream and plops a spoonful into each. He risks a skittish glance at her as they claim two glasses each and she offers him a reassuring smile that he doesn’t seem able to return.

 

_Shit,_ she thinks as she follows him back through, to join the others, _shit shit, shit._


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry its been a while on this one, i got a bit caught up in No Peace Nor rest. 
> 
> Anyway here is an offering, the burn remains slow but i promise to heat things up soon

Chapter 8

 

Veronica never showers at the gym. Aside from the questionable hygiene of shared showers she simply prefers to cool down on her walk home before taking a long soak in the Pembrooke’s luxurious tub.

 

So, at just before 8 the Sunday after the evening the four of them had spent together at Archie’s she’s exiting the building’s smoked glass doors wearing sweat soaked leggings and an oversized sweatshirt, her hair in a high messy bun to keep the damp strands off her skin and there he is. Jughead Jones sporting that same vintage leather jacket he’d worn the last time she’d seen him on his old motorbike and scrolling through his phone with the bored languid air of someone who’s been waiting a while.

 

“Jughead?” his name escapes her mouth only a split second before the thought that she really doesn’t want to been seen looking this gross hits her brain.

 

He puts his phone away and smiles shyly at her. “Hey.”

 

“Hey”

 

He runs his hand over his opposite bicep nervously but doesn’t speak.

 

“What are you doing here?” she asks eventually when the silence goes on a little too long.

 

“I, um, I figured it out”

 

Her eyes widen at that and she forgets that she’s sweaty and probably smells awful and steps closer. “Jason’s murder?”

 

He laughs and relaxes visibly. “No, unfortunately not. The milkshake,” he looks up at her through his lashes and shoves his hands in his pockets. “I figured out what I did wrong”

 

“Did you now?” she asks with a tilt of her head and a warm inviting look in her eyes.

 

“Yeah,” he holds her gaze a slight blush on his cheeks that she has to admit she finds adorable.  “I was supposed to take you out for it. Right?”

 

She nods sagely. “That was implied, yes”

 

“Sorry,” he pauses. “How about now? Apology breakfast, or I don’t know, thanks for getting me out of prison breakfast.”

 

She laughs at that. “I hardly broke you out of Alcatraz, Jughead, but I’ll take the apology,” she reaches for her phone. “Just let me call Smithers an-”

 

“Ah ah,” he steps closer and lays a stilling hand on her arm. “We’ll take the bike,” he smirks. “I seem to remember a promise to ride with me if I got here early enough. This is a frankly sacrilegious time of day to be working out, you do know that right?”

 

 She feels herself blanche at the thought of getting on his bike. “Veronica Lodge cannot be seen in public dressed like this”

 

“Please. No one we know is up yet, besides you’ll be with me, yoga pants will not be what ruins your cool girl reputation,” his lips quirks in a way that seems to say he know he’s got her in check mate. “Unless you’re scared”

 

“Fine,” she snatches the helmet he’s proffering in her direction. “I’ll risk social death if I first escape road traffic accident death”

 

He throws his leg over the bike with a laugh and while she definitely still considers the thing a death trap, she can’t deny the aesthetic of the slightly rusted chrome and the raven-haired boy with the wicked smirk that’s straddling it. She huffs and secures her gym bag to her back before pulling on the helmet and gingerly perching herself behind him with her hands placed primly either side of his waist.

 

He takes both her hands in his and positions the more firmly around his middle as he looks at her over his shoulder. “If your fingers get too cold shove them in my jacket” he instructs and then they’re off with her clinging stiffly to his body and trying not to do anything to throw him off balance.

 

To be fair he rides the bike with confidence and a competence that she finds moderately reassuring as they roll through the quiet morning streets at a steady relaxing pace.

 

With the immediate fear of the bike receding she lets herself enjoy the intimacy of their position, she’s plastered to his back with this lean hips pressing sharply into the inside of her thighs and her breasts squashed against the leather of his jacket. Her hands, because he said she could and Jesus does being on a bike freeze your fingers, are up inside the bottom of his jacket against the soft flannel of his shirt. She squirms her fingers a little higher searching out the warmth trapped between his shirt and his jacket and feels the taught muscles of his flat stomach beneath her fingers.

 

She’s just beginning to enjoy the closeness of his body more than she fears the tarmac beneath their tyres when he slows them to a halt outside Pop’s and waits while she peels herself off his back and steps off the bike.

 

“Well?” he asks as she shakes out her hair.

 

“It was ok”

 

He gives her a disapproving look. “Just ok?”

 

“It was good,” she amends sounding unconvinced.

 

“You need to feel it out in the open,” he tells her, seemingly determined to convert her into a bike enthusiast. “The road that runs North along sweetwater is incredible”

 

“Maybe you could take me sometime. When I have gloves,” she flexes her stiff fingers. “and a really warm coat”

 

“Yeah,” a smile plays shyly on his mouth. “I will”

 

Pop’s is deserted save for an old couple in a booth on the far side of the diner and a middle-aged woman drinking coffee at the counter and reading the paper.

 

“No!” he interrupts incredulously when Veronica orders an egg-white omelet. “That’s not an apology, it’s a torture. Pancakes are the only food capable of doing proper justice to my sincere contrition. Not to mention the breakfast of champions”

 

She rolls her eyes dismissively. “My vixen’s uniform would disagree”

 

“You went to the gym before 8am on a Sunday Veronica, you’ve sacrificed enough,” he looks at her through his lashes, a slight pout on his full lips and she’s struck again by how he seems at the same time both awkward and bashful and yet assured in the power of his own attractiveness. “Order something you actually want to eat”

 

“Fine, pancakes,” she smiles at the waitress who’s waiting patiently for their decision. “Extra bacon, extra syrup, thanks”

 

“Yes!” Jughead grins and turns to the waitress himself. “Same please, and two milkshakes one strawberry, one chocolate”

 

The pancakes are an indulgence she can afford, not least because she’s confident Jughead will eat at least half of hers.  He doesn’t disappoint, after inhaling his portion at superhuman speed he starts snagging scraps from her plate as they talk.

 

She likes that she thinks, likes it even better than the easy conversation that flows between them. She likes the presumptuous familiarity of the way his hand darts across the table to snatch cog ends of crispy bacon from her plate and the way he sucks syrup off his fingertips as he talks. Christ, she thinks, as he curls his tongue around his thumb, does he even know he’s doing it?

 

An hour later she throws her leg over his bike and plasters herself to his back. This time she doesn't hesitate to slide her hands up inside his jacket, beneath his t-shirt this time so that he cool fingers lie directly on the warm skin of his stomach, making the muscles jump in response.

 

He looks over his shoulder, eyebrow raised and mouth quirking at her forwardness, she smiles innocently back at him and then they’re off with his laughter left behind them in the chill air of Pop’s car park.

 

Surely that was a date, their first date.  Yet at school that week nothing changes between them. They still bicker and sit on opposite sides of the lunch table, although on Thursday he steals her uneaten Hershey bar with an unrepentant wink that could almost be described as flirtatious.

 

On Saturday morning her phone lights up with an offer of that ride north along the Sweetwater highway. She dresses in black skinny jeans and her mother’s fitted leather jacket and digs out a thick pair of lined leather gloves and meets him in the lobby of the Penbrooke.

 

“Wow,” he blurts out when he sees her. “Do you literally have an outfit for every possible scenario?”

 

“Mais oui Mr Jones, but of course”

 

“Fair enough,” he turns and leads the way to his bike and hands her a helmet. A spare this time and she’s relieved he’s not taking chances today. “Ready to actually feel this thing move”

 

“Sure,” she says without conviction as she clambers on behinds him

 

“Well then, you are going to have to hold tight”

 

That she can do, she wraps her arms firmly around his waist and flattens her front to his back as they roar out of town with none of the sedateness of their last ride. Out on the highway the wind whips past her face and the bike angles alarmingly as they navigate the sweeping curves of the highway. She holds tight and lets her body move with his as he leans into the corners.

 

He drives them to a picnic area looking out over the curling length of the river and hangs back awkwardly while she steps to the edge of the lookout and marvels at the beauty of it.

 

“This is amazing, I can’t believe I’ve never seen this”

 

“I, er,” he gives a bashful shuffle of his feet that is 21 carat adorable and makes a stiff gesture to the small storage box on the bike. “I brought coffee if you want some, or,” another awkward swallow, she could really get used to nervous Jughead. “There’s a couple of pastries”

 

“Jughead Jones,” she purses her lips playfully. “Did you bring me breakfast?”

 

Her teasing tone seems to snap him out of his shyness and he gives her a scathing look. “I brought _me_ breakfast,” he corrects, and then with a crooked smile adds, “but I’ll share”

 

He goes to the bike and returns with a battered flask of coffee, a pair of mismatched plastic mugs, and a large bag of baked goods that smells enticing when he opens it on the picnic table overlooking the river.

 

She selects a mille-feuille. She never would have with previous dates, the flakey fattening treat offering far too much chance of judgment or at least of untidy eating. But she thinks Jughead might actually relish the sight of a woman joyfully devouring one, crumbs on her face and all. When she bites into it a large blob of creamy filling escapes from the other side and he laughs and catches it in his palm, licking off the messy blob with a grin.

 

“These are impossible to eat” she declares.

 

He gives a knowing shake of his head and selects one himself which he manages somehow to insert fully into his mouth.

 

“Ok, that is disgusting,”

 

He chews the huge mouthful and swallows noisily then gives a victorious close-lipped grin that makes her laugh. As second dates go, and she’s definitely counting it and their breakfast at Pop’s last week as dates, it’s not the most exciting and certainly not the most sophisticated one she’s been on. She wouldn’t trade it though for any grand romantic gestures or expensive restaurant. She wouldn’t trade his bashful smile or the feel of his body in her arms as he drives them home.

 

She wouldn’t trade the conversation that somehow segued from teasing over pastries to politics and then veered wildly into an argument over the detrimental effects of the movie franchises on modern cinema.

 

Perhaps the one thing she’d change. No, the one thing she would definitely change, is the way they’d parted. She’d stood a little too close to him after they’d both stepped off his bike outside the Penbrooke and looked boldly into his eyes. “Thanks,” she’d laced her voice with husk and invitation. “I had a great time”

 

“Yeah,” he’d looked a little baffled about what to do next. His gaze had slid to the side and he’d nodded. “Me too, er, see you at school” Then he’d got on his bike and vanished.

 

Yes, that she’d have changed. Because while the boyish awkwardness is adorable and all she’s more than ready for another flash of the confidence that had taken him over in Archie’s kitchen when he’d pinned her up against the counter and almost kissed her.

 

On Wednesday lunchtime she sees a chance to remind him of that moment. She’s heading for the extra Vixen practice that Cheryl is insisting Betty do at lunch when she catches sight of his flannel unattended on the back of one of the chairs. She snags it and as she enters the gym pulls it on.

 

“Is that Jughead’s?” Betty asks with an arching eyebrow.

 

“Is it?” she breezes with feigned innocence. “I just grabbed it, can’t let he muscles get cold”

 

“Right,” Betty says in an unconvinced tone.

 

Ten minutes later while Cheryl’s haranguing Betty about her timing Jughead strides into the gym and makes a beeline for her. She meets his glower with an innocent smile.

 

“Veronica,” he looks pointedly at his shirt, irritation radiating off him waves

 

“Can I help you?” she asks sweetly with a little flutter of her eyelashes.

 

He narrows his eyes and tips his head appraisingly. There’s a brief flash of understanding in his eyes and he steps in close, his demeanor changing from annoyed to intense. “Stop” he reaches out and unties the front of the shirt. “Stealing,” without breaking eye contact he hooks the material of the shirt between his index and middle finger just below the collar on each side. “My,” he pushes the material down her shoulders, hands trailing over her skin and she meets the challenge in his gaze with her own. At her wrists he reaches around her so he can gather the material at her back and pull it free, the movement bringing his face only millimeters away from her. “Clothes.”

 

He looks briefly at her mouth and she feels her composure flicker faintly in response, her eyelids flutter minutely and her lips part. His eyes find hers again and his smirk could only be described as smug, then he goes, leaving her watching the swinging door and fighting an answering smirk of her own.

 

“We’re here to practice, Rose DeWitt,” She turns at the catty sound of Cheryl’s voice to find both she and Betty staring at her, one looking malicious the other confused. “So, if you must engage in nauseating, not to mention unsanitary, hobo eye sex do it on your own time”

 

She rolls her eyes and joins the pair to run through the lifts and toss for another forty-five minutes until her body aches all over. In the locker room Betty gives her a strange look.

 

“What?”” she asks

 

“What’s going on with you and Jughead?” Betty shakes her head, her expression a little baffled. “I’ve never seen him like that”

 

“Like what?”

 

“I don’t know,” Betty blushes and answers in a slightly scandalised whisper “Sexy”

 

“It’s no great surprise,” she responds flippantly. “The smoulder is a close cousin of the brood after all”

 

“So?”

 

“Opening skirmishes Miss Cooper,” Veronica tells the blonde as she pulls on her heels. “We’re circling each other right now, a motorbike ride here, a few stolen shirts there.”

 

“But there are sparks?” Betty presses, her smile bubbling up as she quizzes her dark friend.  “Because I think I saw actual sparks”

 

“Unclear at this point,” she’s finger combs her hair, arranging the dark strands into sleek perfections. “The boy goes from mega-volts to power outage in a second. No matter I’m at one. The new Veronica Lodge is learning the value of patience.”

 

“Right,” Betty seems both enthusiastic about the prospect of Veronica and Jughead and at the same time mildly concerned. “You know Jug’s just shy right? He’s never really had a girlfriend or even a date and you’re kinda a big deal V, that’s gotta be intimidating”

 

Later those words play on her mind. Didn’t she leave being intimidating, being a big deal, behind her in New York? It was probably meant as a compliment, she knows most people would take it as one. She knows enough to know how hollow it is.

 

She wants to be more than the infamous Veronica Lodge. She wants to be the snappy argumentative girl she feels herself to be when Jughead ignores her flirting in favour of dismantling her opinions. The blushing, crushing, girl that wanted so badly for him to take her to homecoming. The irritating interesting girl she sees reflected in his eyes when they fight over everything and nothing.

 

It doesn’t matter, she realises, if in the end she’s reading this whole thing wrong and Jughead doesn’t even like that girl. _She_ likes that girl and that’s really all that matters.

 

That said, she thinks with an amused prick of self-awareness, she’s does really, really, hope he likes that girl


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe I will, she thinks as she storms away from the trailer park. Maybe she should go back to those easy simple of guys she’d had so much fun with back in New York. Pick up a date with Reggie-Fuckboy-Mantle and rub it right in Jughead’s stupid emo face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, is anyone still there? I know it's been forever. I'm sorry. I've been wanting to write this chapter since the outset and when the time came it was harder than i expected.
> 
> Here's a snippet from the last chapter to remind you where we were at
> 
> _“Opening skirmishes Miss Cooper,” Veronica tells the blonde as she pulls on her heels. “We’re circling each other right now, a motorbike ride here, a few stolen shirts there.”_
> 
> _“But there are sparks?” Betty presses, her smile bubbling up as she quizzes her dark friend. “Because I think I saw actual sparks”_
> 
> _“Unclear at this point,” she’s finger combs her hair, arranging the dark strands into sleek perfections. “The boy goes from mega-volts to power outage in a second. No matter I’m at one. The new Veronica Lodge is learning the value of patience.”_
> 
>  
> 
> \------------------------------------

The news that FP Jones has confessed to Jason Blossom’s murder comes during the Friday night football game. The vixens are midway through their routine when she catches sight of Sheriff Keller making his way over to where Jughead is leaning indolently against the side of the bleachers.

 

When Veronica had taken to the field she’d been surprised and excited to  see Jughead making his way with languid discomfort through the boisterous crowd. It’s not really his scene and she’d been fairly confident he wasn’t there for Archie, especially when his eyes had followed her as she’d come running to the touch line cheering and waving her pompoms. He’d smirked and raised an eyebrow, his gaze playfully contemptuous and sparkling. She’d smirked back and renewed the enthusiasm of her whooping.

 

The pike dismount, which she nails, lands with her back to the crowd and when the steps have her facing front again she sees Sheriff Keller laying a conciliatory hand on Jughead’s shoulder. Jughead shrugs it off and storms away leaving the Sheriff staring after him and Veronica going through the motions of cheerleading robotically, her mind overflowing with concern.

 

She can’t find him after the game or the next day. Betty and Archie have no information. “Poor Juggie” Betty says sadly her brow furrowed with concern. “I wish we could help him somehow”

 

“I sent my lawyer again but FP refuses to see him and I can’t find Jughead to get him to talk some sense into his dad”

 

“No one’s seen him,” Betty bites her lip and her eyes are wide and troubled. “I’m really worried”

 

“Me too B, me too”

 

On Monday lunchtime he turns up at school, apologises to Cheryl Blossom and gets pummelled in the middle of the cafeteria for his trouble before being unceremoniously sent home.

 

She bangs on the trailer door after school and he pulls it violently open and glares at her. He looks like shit. His hair is unbrushed and greasy and his eyes shadowed. “What do you want Veronica?” he snaps.

 

In that moment she wishes that she were more like Betty, that she could be soft and accepting and full of understanding. She’s not, she can already feel irritation buzzing inside her skull. Deep breath, she thinks, what would Betty say?

 

“I’m here to check you’re ok and to see if you need anything. We’re all really worried about you Juggie,” she cringes, too much Betty. He sneers at the nickname, the contempt that had been so playful at the game brutally real now.

 

“I’m fine” he moves to shut the door and she lays her palm against the cold glass making him stop and glower at her.

 

“You’re not,” she insists, maybe she can’t do Betty, but she can do Veronica and Veronica doesn’t let people wallow. “I know, I’ve been there, remember?”

 

“Oh right,” he rolls his eyes and retreats behind his fortress of sarcasm. “Because your dad’s a fraudster and mines a murder?”

 

“Do you believe that?” she asks, shocked by his bluntness.

 

He shrugs. “Either he’s a murderer or he’s a liar, either way any chance of him finally being an actual father is gone. So, I’m done ok?” he punches the heel of one hand emphatically against the palm of the other and the muscles in his face tighten visibly. “I’m done with him”

 

“Ok, I get it,” she retorts, failing to keep her own voice even. “Your dad’s a dick, let him rot. But don’t shut your friends out right now Jughead”

 

“My friends?” he laughs, a sound so cold and mirthless she feels almost physically chilled by it. “Betty and Archie are better off without me, but they’d never cut bait. I’m doing them a favour”

 

“And me?”

 

He looks at her askance and sighs, the tension spilling out of him, replaced with an exhausted disdain. “I barely know you Veronica, what the fuck would you care?”

 

“Are you seriously asking me that?” her voice rises half with indignation, half with hurt. “Or are you just being a jerk?”

 

“We’re not friends Veronica, go home”

 

Then she’s staring at the closed door with her blood boiling. She thumps hard on the door, making the glass shake and the hinges creak.

 

The door swings open again in response and she forces her way past him into the trailer and turns to face him down. “I cannot believe you,” her hands find her hips. “Get your head out of your ass Jughead. I didn’t notice a line of friends queuing up to support you so don’t be a dick to the only one who actually showed up”

 

“I didn’t ask you to come here Princess Di,” his anger is heating fast, rattling against his gaze like water boiling in a pan. “You never struck me as the charitable type, so why exactly are you here?

 

“Really?” she glances at the ceiling in exasperated disbelief.  “We’re playing that game?”

 

“Oh yeah,” his eyes narrow scornfully and his lip curls into a sneer. “You _like_ _me,_ right?”

 

“Yes,” she responds emphatically. “You know I do”

 

He seems momentarily startled by her honesty and his gaze flashes awkwardly to the ground before he breaths in noisily through his nose and fixes her with a contemptuous glare. “And yet I haven’t done anything about it have I? Get the message Veronica, I don’t want you, I never fucking wanted you,” his runs a hand through his tangled hair and his jaw ticks visibly. “I never even wanted to fuck you. Go home”

 

She straightens, beating back the burn of humiliation in her chest and the press of tears against her eyes, she absolutely will not cry. “Screw you Jughead”

 

“Not interested,” his snarls and gestures towards the door. “So, why don’t you go throw it at one of those knuckle dragging jocks that are all so desperate to get into your panties?”

 

“Asshole”

 

_Maybe I will,_ she thinks as she storms away from the trailer park. Maybe she should go back to those easy simple of guys she’d had so much fun with back in New York. Pick up a date with Reggie-Fuckboy-Mantle and rub it right in Jughead’s stupid emo face.

 

How many weeks has she wasted chasing him? Just to find herself hurt and humiliated in a trailer of all things. How the mighty have fallen she thinks with a sneer. Perhaps the New Veronica is a loser, perhaps the old Veronica should make a comeback with one of those dumb pretty boys that, as Jughead so pleasantly pointed out, are all so keen to get between her legs.

 

Providence provides her with just such a boy just two days later.

 

“Hey girl,” Chuck positions himself on the arm of her chair where she’s sitting in the student lounge listening distractedly to Kevin bemoan the lack of enthusiasm among their peers for musical theatre. “You are going to want to be free tomorrow night beautiful”

 

She turns to Chuck with a bland smile painted on her face. “I am?”

 

“Hell yes, because tomorrow night will be your first official Clayton rager. My folks are out of town and it is going to be wild”

 

She’s not honestly that keen, Chuck strikes her as worse than an idiot, he’s a bully and a jerk. But he’s also extraordinarily pretty and the absolute polar opposite of Jughead who she’s been determinedly not thinking about since she stormed out of his trailer.

 

She makes a humming noise of consideration. “I will see what I can do”

 

“No way gorgeous, this is not a party you wanna miss,” he jerks his chin at Kevin. “Hey Keller, help me out dude, this is _the_ party right man?”

 

“Well I might know,” Kevin responds huffily. “If I’d ever been invited”

 

“You’re totally invited Kev,” Chuck roughly slaps the slighter man’s back and gives Veronica what she presumes is supposed to be a sexy smile. “So long as you convince V to come along.”

 

“Don’t waste your time Chuck,” Cheryl Blossom manifest out of nowhere like demon from hell she undoubtedly is. “Veronica’s taste in men is tragically Jane Burnham.”

 

“For God’s sake Cheryl,” Veronica presses the tip of her middle finger against her suddenly throbbing forehead. “Don’t you ever just stop?”

 

The redhead smiles, sweet and nasty. “Rarely. As Vixen’s captain I feel it’s my duty to steer my bitches away from entanglements that would embarrass all of us.”

 

“Well lucky for us I’m not entangling anyone,” Veronica snaps unable to hide her annoyance.

 

“Really?” Cheryl purses her stickily painted mouth and looks Veronica up and down. “My mistake”

 

Chuck glances back and forth between the two women for a moment then seems to give up on deciphering their mean girl posturing in favour of turning to her with a bright smile. “So, what you say princess, is it a date?”

 

Kevin gives her an encouraging nod and Cheryl lifts and eyebrow in amused challenge. Isn’t this what she wanted? An anti-Jughead to scrub out the last of her feelings for the self-involved melodramatic boy she’d been a fool to let herself believe was something special. “Sure, why not? we’ll be there”

 

By lunchtime the following day Jughead is back in school sitting with Archie and Betty in the cafeteria. She almost turns and leaves, but Veronica Lodge does not back down and she’s not about to give up her time with her friends because he’s a jerk.

 

She grabs her tray and settles herself beside Betty with a smile. “Oh my God,” she opens dramatically without acknowledging Jughead’s presence. “Absolutely nothing in the cafeteria falls into any recognisable food group”

 

Betty makes a strange strained face that she imagines is supposed to be a smile. “Hey V, we’re just talking to Jug about his dad, it’s terrible”

 

She lifts and eyebrow and glances dismissively at the dark haired boy who’s looking at his half-eaten lunch with the air of someone who hopes the earth will open up beneath him at any moment.

 

“Incarcerated parents are pretty passé in this town” she shrugs and spots Chuck at the next table. “So, I hope my two Riverdale besties,” she points her fork at Betty and Archie in turn. “will be coming to Chuck’s party tomorrow night.”

 

Archie awkwardly side eyes Jughead, “Er, I’m not sure Ronnie,”

 

“We’re not exactly in the party mood, V” Betty says carefully with a pointed flick of her eyes towards Jughead that Veronica ignores. “And we haven’t actually been invited”

 

“Nonsense, a wild night is just what we need. Chuck” she waves the football player over with a winning smile. “My girl Betty’s invited tomorrow night isn’t she? And Archiekins?”

 

“Sure thing babe,” Chuck’s smile oozes oleaginous smarm, “Whatever makes you happy”

 

Veronica claps and, ignoring the frown on Jughead’s face as he finally looks up from his lunch, gives Chuck an ostentatiously sugary smile. “You are so sweet

 

Jughead stands suddenly and leaves without a word and she watches him go with a familiar feeling of hollow satisfaction. The old Veronica, it seems, is back in the game.

 

Betty watches her with concern for the rest of their lunch break while she gushes puerile high school nonsense she hates the sound of even in her own ears. Eventually her friend quizzes her in that gentle Betty way. “Did something happen V,” she asks softly when they’re alone. “Between you and Jughead?”

 

“No, and thank God,” she tosses her hair. “Bullet dodged, as they say.”

 

“I thought you guys-“

 

“No,” she snaps and immediately relents at the shocked look on Betty’s face. “Sorry B, I just don’t want to get into it. Suffice to say, I tried to be there for him and he made it obnoxiously clear he wasn’t interested.”

 

Betty bites her lip, clearly debating her loyalties. “Jug’s having a hard time V. With his dad and-“

 

“Boo hoo Betty, he’s not the only one who’s life sucks. It doesn’t excuse his being a dick. No one talks to Veronica Lodge that way,” she forces the Jughead induced scowl of her face and gives her friend a winning smile. “Now can we please forget Jughead and talk about how incredible you are going to look at the party tomorrow night?”

 

The party is actually pretty great. Live music, lots and lots of free alcohol, a heated outdoor pool full of half-naked varsity football players. The old Veronica would have loved it. The new Veronica would probably love it too to be honest if she weren’t so hyper aware of the jock she so foolishly agreed to date and the boy who isn’t here

 

Chuck’s hands have already been roaming south of her waistline and she’s only on her second drink. At the first opportunity she gives him the slip and escapes with Kevin to the walled garden behind the house.

 

“A total Neanderthal,” she tells her friend in disgust.  “Definitely not up to my admittedly lofty standards”

 

Kevin nods in sympathetic agreement but his eyes flash upwards and she follows his gaze to see Moose giving him a furtive come here gesture from the balcony above.

 

“Go,” she says and Kevin vanishes leaving her smiling after him and contemplating seeing if Archie and Betty want to get out of here and head to Pop’s.

 

“Veronica?” the familiar voice startles her and she keeps her back to him and looks over her shoulder.

 

“Jughead,” she greets cooly. “I didn’t expect to see you here”

 

He doesn’t speak so she turns around fully and gives him a cold questioning look. “What _are_ you doing here? I can’t imagine you were actually invited”

 

“I just, it’s” Jughead looks nervous and oddly determined as he takes a deep breath and continues. “He’s not a good guy Veronica.”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“Chuck, he’s got form for some pretty crappy behaviour with girls,” he tells and at her raised eyebrow continues in a rush. “Look, I know you can handle yourself but Ethel went out with him last spring and Ethel says-”

 

“Hold on,” She lifts a hand in prim demand for silence. “Let me stop you there and remind you that last time I saw you you kicked me out of your trailer and generally behaved like a qualifier for the asshole Olympics. Why the hell are you here now? And why are we talking about Ethel?”

 

“Because Chuck was a douche to her, just like he’s a jerk to everybody else,” frustration shades his tone in anger and his hand grasps jerkily at the back of his own neck. “Because he’s a self-entitled meat-head who only takes a break from bullying anyone without a Letterman jacket to treat women like trophies. If you want to date him that’s your business but you should know what sort of shit he’s pulled before”

 

“You’re here to protect me form Chuck?” she fires back in angry disbelief. “Seriously? A little pot kettle don’t you think after the way you behaved”

 

His nervous eyes spectrum quickly through shades of hurt and finally settle into remorse. “I’m sorry Veronica, I said a lot of shitty thing I didn’t mean. But this isn’t about me, its about a guy who’s publicly slut shamed nice girls for shit they never did.”

 

“No, Jughead this is about you,” and as she says it she knows it’s true. Being here is about him, every darn thing has been about him for months and she’s sick to the back teeth of it. “And I am so over it! You want to save me from Chuck? then give me a reason to walk out of here, because I know that this” she indicates between them with her hand. “I know there’s something here. I just don’t know why you’re so determined to sabotage it”

 

He gives her a look which starts out withering and quickly crumbles into something sad and introspective.

 

“Because,” he studies his own fingernails for a second before continuing. “I’ve heard you say the words ‘old Veronica’ enough times to know you’re looking for something different. I get it, I’m different. You’re chasing this fantasy of a new you.” he sighs and reluctantly lifts his gaze to her “But the reality. The trailer park trash with the banged up alcoholic dad. The loner weirdo with exactly two friends who’s never even kissed a girl. That reality. Me.” he does a sort of shrug-sigh-huff that radiates defeat. “That could only be a disappointment for a girl like you”

 

“Like me?”

 

“Smart, rich,” he gives an awkward one shouldered shrug and his gaze flashes skittishly to hers. “Beautiful. I’m sorry, for the things I said, I am.” He shakes his head anger with himself manifest on his handsome face. “But I’d let myself hope. Hope that my dad was finally getting his act together. Hope that I’d actually have somewhere to live that wasn’t on Archie’s floor> Christ,” he gives a brief bitter laugh. “Even hope I might get the girl. Hope’s bitch Veronica. I didn’t want to hope, but you came and I couldn’t help it. I just,” he sighs and looks away. “I needed you to go”.

 

She feels his words, his hopelessness, like a clamp around her heart. Each sentence, each pained swallow, tightening the screw until she’s surprised it can even beat at all. The thought _poor Jughead_ that rattles about inside her skull seems utterly inadequate.

 

“No Jughead, you _needed_ me to stay,” she tells firmly. “Hopes are only a bitch if they’re,” she shrugs and shakes her head, frustrated with her inability to articulate herself when she usually has words to spare. “False.”

 

He swallows in that nervous way of his and his eyes flash up, briefly peering at her through his dark fringe before dropping again, his hair swinging slightly with the repudiating shake of his head. “You don’t want me Veronica, you’d be-”

 

“Disappointed?” she cuts him off, her voice sliding into gentleness. “You can’t know that. You have to be brave Jughead, or yes hope will turn on you.” She steps in close lowering her voice to a whisper and her gaze to his mouth, telegraphing her desire so clearly that he couldn’t possible doubt it. “Be brave Jughead”

 

He takes a shuddering breath, loud and fractured, audible even over the music seeping from the house. “I wouldn’t even know what I’m doing”

 

“Then trust me” She runs her fingers delicately up his arms to settle her hands on his shoulders holding his gaze with her own. She leans in and his eyes widen but he doesn’t pull back and his tongue flicks out over his lips. It’s all the invitation she needs to angle her head and gently press her lips to his in a lingering close-mouthed kiss.

 

After a few moments she reluctantly relinquishes the softness of his lips and pulls back enough to look into his face as his eyes flutter open. That they’d been closed she’s interpreting as a very good sign.

 

She holds his gaze and tips her head the other way, slowly bringing her mouth back up to meet his again. His lips are sticky now with the almost invisible layer of her lipstick and press back against hers lightly. It’s tentative. It’s barely even contact, her hand on his shoulder, one of his high on her waist the other limp at his side. Their bodies inches of cool evening air apart. But her heart is beating a frantic tattoo in her chest and her skin is tingling everywhere he isn’t touching her.

 

How much more intense she finds this not touching, this pulse of anticipation, than Chucks eager grabbing hands. They part again, look again into each other’s eyes, tilt their heads again, kiss again. It’s just lips brushing together,  repeated barely half a dozen times and yet she can already feel arousal stirring deep in her belly. Less it seems, at least with him, is certainly more.

 

She lets the kisses linger a little longer each time they come together, parts her lips ever so slightly so that their breath mingles moist and warm across each other’s mouths. She flicks out the tip of her tongue to briefly trace his lower lip before moving to pull away again.

His body gives a noticeable shudder and the hand that had been lying on her waist snakes around to pull her body flush against his while the other lifts to cradle her cheek as he presses his mouth harder, wetter, against hers.

 

His tongue slides between her lips and she gives an encouraging hum, a little louder perhaps than strictly necessary, because she’s been waiting for this kiss longer than she’s ever had to wait for anything in her life and she really does not want him to have a crisis of confidence right now.

 

He’s not skilful of course but he’s far from making a mess of it. The sweeps of his tongue are light even as his mouth moulds forcefully to hers and the strength of the arm around her waist is a scintillating surprise. Her own hands go wandering then, one up the side of his neck, fingertips slipping under his beanie, the other delving under his jacket to explore the sinuey muscles of his shoulders.

 

The arousal that had swirled in her belly at his light kisses ratchets up quickly to something wet and eager between her legs as she traces her tongue along his teeth and he groans approvingly and shifts his hand through her hair to cradle the back of her head.

 

Her brain suddenly seems totally redundant in this situation so she shuts it off and lets her body take control.  Her hands eagerly explore his lean frame, learning the firmness of his flat stomach and the sharp jut of his hip as she runs her fingers down from his neck to the waistband of his low-slung jeans.

 

“What the fuck?”

 

They pull apart suddenly at the angry shout from above and turn as one to see Chuck glaring down at them. He vanishes back into the house at speed and Jughead winces. “I’m gonna get punched in the face,” he declares matter of factly, then gives her playful grin. “Fight or flight?”

 

She grins back, feeling dizzy with adrenaline and a little residual lust. “Run,” then she’s off, leading him by the hand back through the crowded house and towards the exit. Halfway out they see Betty and Archie and she releases Jughead to wave them over. “Guys,” she calls. “Come on we gotta go, quick”

 

They run for Archie’s truck, her heels, clacking loudly against the paved drive, making her slower than the others. Archie and Betty pile into the front and Jughead reaches back to grabs her hand and tug her into the back with him making her laugh giddily. “Drive, Arch” Jughead orders and the redhead complies reversing out into the road just as Chuck appears looking furious at the front door.

 

“He’ll get me on Monday” Jughead says and lays his head back against the seat.

 

“Not on my watch,” she says mirroring the action and running her thumb over his hand where it lies on the seat between them still tangled with her own.

 

He smirks, full lips twitching with amusement. “My knight in shining Gucci?”

 

“It’s Prada actually,” she tells him airily. “But yes, Veronica Lodge will protect you”

 

Archie is watching them in the rear-view mirror with undisguised confusion, a deep frown etched between his eyebrows. “What’s going on guys?”

 

“Chuck’s just a little sore that Jug ruined our date”

 

“How?” Archie asks suspiciously.

 

Jughead frowns and she feels his fingers tick as if readying to escape her grasp. She’s always paraded her boyfriends - or were they just conquests? - like so much arm candy, but Jughead isn’t another notch in Veronica’s belt and she doubts very much he’s the kind of guy who’s into labels and PDAs.

 

It’s new and he probably doesn’t even want Betty and Archie to know right now. She can respect that she decides. “Oh, just by facilitating Ethel in exposing Chuck’s misogynistic sleaze ball ways,” she half lies smoothly and releases his hand.

 

“Yeah,” he draws his hand back into his lap and looks at her, his gaze heavy and unreadable.

 

“So,” Betty turns in her seat to look at them, her eyes flashing from one to the other curiously. “Pop’s?”

 

Jughead gives his old friend a chiding look. “You’re asking me that?”

 

Betty laughs affectionately in response and turns back to face front. Jughead turns his gaze back to Veronica’s and drops his hand palm up on the seat in invitation. She smiles back and slips her hand secretly into his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope it came out alright in the end. Let me now what you think


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She shuts the text book with a slow deliberate motion and turns to meet his gaze her eyebrows lifting in amusement. “False pretences, Jughead Jones? I hope I haven’t unwittingly fallen prey to a modern-day Don Juan”
> 
> He snorts and she loves that he gets the reference, that he always gets the reference. “Yes, you found me out. I’m a seducer and a libertine cleverly disguised as a socially awkward weirdo”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been ages, but in my defence this chapter is pretty long, i surprised myself when i saw the word count
> 
> Also there may be some smoochies (spoiler alert there are and more :-)
> 
> Oh i also realised i'd put that it would be 10 chapters long but i'm not finished so i've upped that to 12

Chapter 10

 

Veronica doesn’t know if its adrenaline from their ridiculous escape from Chucks party, or the relief of trading the jock’s groping hands for the familiar neon and vinyl of pops. Perhaps it’s the milkshakes, sugar over the little spike of alcohol she’d drunk earlier, or the extra-large portion of cheesy fries sitting squarely in the middle of the table and the running group joke that Jughead isn’t allowed to start until at least half are gone.

 

Or, maybe, it’s the denim clad thigh pressed lightly, secretly, against hers under the table even as his body angles a respectable distance away. No, she thinks, this feeling in her chest like the fizzing of a soda poured too quickly, is due almost entirely to the small smile on the face of the dark-haired boy at her side and words he’s saying to Betty.

 

“You were right Betts, I’m sorry for shutting you down before, we should definitely talk to Joaquin. Maybe try and figure out where that gun came from given it definitely wasn’t in the trailer when I cleaned it out a couple of weeks ago.”

 

“That’s great Jug,” Betty gives him a relieved affectionate smile and Veronica can see the depth of her love for Jughead in her eyes.  “Something’s not right, I know it. I don’t want to get your hopes up but-”

 

“It’s ok Betts,” Jughead cuts the blonde off and, with a cute crooked smile and a tiny increase of pressure of his knee against hers, says. “I think a little hope might be just what I need right now.”

 

Her mind flashes back to their conversation earlier, _even hope I’d get the girl,_ and she has to take a sip of milkshake to hide the smile she can’t keep off her face. The soda fizzes in her chest and she presses her leg firmly back against his.

 

The evening ends too soon. Heading home in Archie’s truck and silently cursing Betty for graciously offering her the front seat and climbing in the back with Jughead before she had a chance to refuse.

 

“I’m glad Ethel told you about Chuck being a douche, Ronnie,” Archie tells her a little too sincerely for her liking, in a voice pitched low enough to avoid drawing the attention of the chatting pair in the back as Betty talks Jughead through her plan to investigate his father’s arrest. “You can do way better than him”

 

Archie sends her a meaningful look and she gives a mental sigh of frustration. “Seriously Archie?” she wants to snap. “I have not encouraged this and it’s obvious Betty loves you, wake up!”

 

She doesn’t, naturally, instead she gives a shrug that says ‘I know I can’ and deliberately avoids his gaze. Outside the Pembrooke she turns in her chair allowing her eyes to linger only momentarily on Jughead before turning squarely on Betty. “Night guys, thanks for playing get-away driver.”

 

“No problem,” Betty laughs. “Any time you need to run out on a date, you call us and we’ll be there”

 

“I appreciate the offer Handsome Rob but I have a good feeling about my future dating decisions,” she deliberately doesn’t look at Jughead and instead as she turns her head her eyes meet Archie’s. He gives her a hopeful bashful smile, obviously interpreting her words as meant for him.

 

Damn it, she thinks, wishing she could just grab Jughead Jones by the lapels of his hideous Sherpa jacket and make it abundantly clear to Archie and anyone else who happens to be watching exactly who Veronica Lodge wants. But she's determined to let Jughead set the pace. So instead, she steps lightly from the truck and waves them away wishing again she’d had a chance to kiss him goodbye.

 

She doesn’t get a goodnight text and she’d be disappointed if she didn’t know how unsure and inexperienced he is with girls. Perhaps he wanted to send one but didn’t know if he should at that late hour, perhaps he was afraid of coming on too strong, or perhaps, more likely, he went and played video games with Archie and it didn’t occur to him that he should. To her surprise she’s ok with all those scenarios.

 

By Saturday afternoon she’s feeling far less sanguine about the silence of her phone. She could text him of course but she feels like she made the first move and it’s really his turn now. A ridiculous notion she realises but one she can’t quite shake.

 

At about 5 o’clock her phone trills cheerily. The message, from him thank goodness, is so utterly transparent that she bites her lip as she replies. Yes, she is studying for physics test on Monday and no, she totally cannot get her head around harmonica motion either. She can incidentally, it’s really not that hard and she’s far more able in the sciences than she’ll ever let on.

 

She drums her fingers as she waits for his reply. The steps of this dance are a basic choreography she knows well, but whether Jughead will pick up the moves she’s unsure. His reply comes quickly and, hallelujah, he’s not a complete idiot. 

 

“ _Wanna try and work it out together? Study session at Pops_?”

 

Pop’s sounds great but a quick check of her mother’s last voice mail tells her that she’ll be home alone till late so perhaps a study session right here could be far more, or far less she amends cheekily, productive

 

He messages again before she gets a chance to reply, backtracking awkwardly, “ _No worries if you’re busy, it’s cool_ ”

 

She smiles warmly to herself, she’s never dated anyone as inexperienced as Jughead before and she’s surprised by how endearing she finds his hesitance.

 

“ _How about you just come by my place. I’ll order pizza? x_ ”

 

_“Ok, sounds good. x”_

Twenty minutes later she opens her door to see him standing there with the strap of his messenger bag gripped tightly in one hand and the other bashfully rubbing the back of his neck. “Hey” he greets eyes flitting away from hers and down to his own feet.

 

She follows his gaze to his battered converse which shuffle in response to her scrutiny.

 

“Hey,” she replies, stepping aside and beckoning him inside with a flourish. “Welcome to chez Lodge”

 

Last time he was here his eyes had flitted around the room curiously taking in her wealth, this time he keeps them fixed on her as he steps inside. She gives him a coy smile as she assesses his outfit.

 

He’s scruffy, she can’t imagine him any other way, but in place of his usual t-shirt and flannel he’s wearing a dark blue jumper in a soft worn wool that she imagines may be his best one. His hair, under his beanie of course, looks slightly damp and the realisation that he’s dressed up for her, in his own woefully inadequate way, pleases her immensely.

 

She’s dressed for him too, although where he’s dressed up, she’s dressed down. She’s wearing a white tank top under the check shirt she stole form him weeks ago and a pair of comfortable navy shorts selected because the only time she ever remembers him checking her out was that night at Betty’s when his eyes had trailed over her legs as she’d descended the stairs in her silk pyjamas.

 

She fetches a couple of sodas from the kitchen while he drags his physics notes from his bag and lays them next to hers on the coffee table.

 

“I have a confession to make,” she tells him as she settles beside him and tucks her legs up underneath her.  “I lied to you,” she pauses and flicks her eyes to the text books on the table. “I know this stuff”

 

His expression travels from apprehension through relief and into amusement as she speaks. “You lied? Veronica, how could you?”

 

She shrugs unrepentantly and sips her soda. “Lo siento, torombolo. I will make it up to you with the extra-large peperoni pizza that should be arriving momentarily.”

 

“Do you really think you can buy my forgiveness with food Veronica?” he asks with narrowed eyes. “Because let me tell you, you can, you definitely can”

 

They drink soda and eat pizza and get into an argument about the relative merits of mayonnaise and chilli oil as a pizza accompaniment that goes on and on and round and round in a way only arguments with him can. Finally, she wipes her hands on a serviette and sits forward to open her text book.

 

“So, do you wanna start with harmonics?”

 

“I lied too,” he says and she realises he’s still lounging against the back of the couch. “I know this stuff”

 

She shuts the text book with a slow deliberate motion and turns to meet his gaze her eyebrows lifting in amusement. “False pretences, Jughead Jones? I hope I haven’t unwittingly fallen prey to a modern-day Don Juan”

 

He snorts and she loves that he gets the reference, that he always gets the reference. “Yes, you found me out. I’m a seducer and a libertine cleverly disguised as a socially awkward weirdo”

 

“You’re not a weirdo Jughead”

 

He gives a gasp of mock outrage. “How dare you, I strongly self-identify as such.”

 

“Please,” she rolls her eyes. “A pretentious film collection and an emo aesthetic does not a weirdo make. In fact, it’s as tired a teen cliché as the reformed mean girl. You’ll have to do better than that”

 

“I have no friends,” he counters.

 

“Excepting an inner circle consisting of a varsity football player and not one but two smoking hot cheerleaders?” she asks with a quirk of her eyebrow that makes him scowl. They fall silent for a few seconds before she asks in softer, more curious tones “Why are you so determined to cast yourself the outsider”

 

He picks up on the sincerity of her questions and sighs before answering in kind. “Maybe it’s easier,” he says dropping his head and looking up at her through his lashes. “To be that. Easier to choose to be an outcast than to be forced to be one. Safer, you know?”

 

She’s nods, it’s pushing the limits of her empathy given she’s lived her life on a pedestal but yes, she thinks she can understand the impulse to own it. “I guess. I suppose this explains why you haven’t dated much?”

 

He narrows his eyes, giving her a vaguely withering look. “Oh, if only that were the case. Honestly I just never really felt that way about Ethel and it didn’t occur to me anyone else would want to date me”

 

She blinks. Sure, he rocks a less than conventional look but he, and the girls of Riverdale, can’t be totally blind to his charms. “Why not?”

 

He gives her a chiding look that clearly says, w _hy do you think?_ and she shakes her head, perplexed. “I’m serious Jughead, you’re smart and funny, not to mention a total smoke show-“

 

He looks embarrassed and doubtful as he cuts her off. “That has not been the popular opinion”

 

“Then clearly these small-town girls do not appreciate a little Brooklyn style sexy,” she declares feeling almost angry with the close-minded tramps of this one pony town for not seeing what she sees. She edges towards him on the couch, her fingers lifting to toy with the cuff of his sweater. “Fortunately, Veronica Lodge has more metropolitan tastes”

 

He glances down at her hand then back to her eyes and that confident Mr Hyde that lurks inside his bashful Dr Jekyll rises to the surface.

 

A smirk pulls his lips upward and he bites them to keep it from blooming into a full smile. “Metropolitan? I have been called a lot of things Veronica, but that’s new,” his eyelashes flutter, dark against his pale skin, as he looks pointedly at her mouth. “Come here”

 

She obeys with no pretence at coyness, sliding lithely forward so they’re almost pressed together and tipping her head in invitation.

 

His mouth finds hers and his right hand runs lightly down her left arm so he can gently grasp her wrist and position it around his own neck.

 

Jughead Jones, she realises as he takes control of the kiss, is a very fast learner. He’s already better at this than he was at Chucks party last night, his lips moving decisively over hers as his tongue trails lazily along the edges of her top teeth making her shiver with a wave of unexpected pleasure.

 

His tongue retreats almost immediately forcing hers to give chase, exploring the inside of his mouth with an accompanying moan in her throat. She’s had some very pleasurable kisses in her life, running with older, more experienced, boys in New York, but she can’t honestly say she’s ever felt this damn needy before.

 

A part of her, the queen bee, rails against being anything less than in complete control. But another part, a part that’s never before made itself know, revels in the feeling of throwing herself, fully and unguarded, into this new sensation. He pulls away slightly, taking the warmth of his lips with him and she gives a dissatisfied moan and tugs at his neck, greedily pulling his mouth back to hers.

 

Their study session turns into make out session. A frustratingly PG make out session, because for all that he kisses her more a more like a man, his hands still lie with a boy’s hesitance in the neutral ground between the dip of her rib cage and the flare of her hips.

 

Fine, she thinks, even as her breasts ache with the need to be touched and her hips more than once threaten to, of their own volition, cross the no man’s land of air between them and grind against his. Let him set the pace, she tells herself firmly, no need to rush.

 

 

On Monday Veronica grabs Jughead by the sleeve and drags him into the Blue and Gold. “What the hell Jughead?” she barks with her hands on her hips.

 

He swallows and she knows he’s already realises that his lies of omission are out in the open. “Veronica-“

 

“Do not ‘Veronica’ me Jughead Jones,” she snaps. “I’ve just had a very illuminating conversation with Archie and Betty regarding, what was it now? Oh yes your probable, and probably imminent, assimilation into an uncaring foster system.”

 

She’d barely been able to maintain the appropriate expression when Archie and Betty had told her about Fred’s problems obtaining temporary custody of Jughead. Tedious, trivial, legal problems far outside of Mary Andrews’ area of expertise.

 

“Mrs A was looking into it,”

 

“Archie’s mom is not a family lawyer Jughead,” she shoots his argument down in a hard, clipped, tone. “My uncle - you remember him? The one who got you out of Keller’s clutches in ten minutes flat - has whole teams of extremely clever specialist in every area of law, why did you not talk to me about this?”

 

“Veronica, when we found out last week you weren’t even talking to me,” he lifts a placating hand when she looks poised to interrupt. “And with good reason. Was I supposed to expect you to help me?”

 

“You think I wouldn’t have?” she asks affronted. Angry and wounded that he’d imagine her that petty. “You think I’d jeopardise your whole future because I was mad, or because I’d been turned down?”

 

He shrugs and takes a shaky breath, “I dunno, I kinda hoped Mary could help anyways”

 

“And on Saturday, when it was clear not only that she couldn’t but that I was the exact polar opposite of mad at you?” she throws up both hands in exasperation. “You couldn’t have taken your tongue out of my mouth long enough to ask for help?”

 

He blushes a shade of crimson she imagines she’d find adorable is she wasn’t so frustrated with him right now. “I didn’t want you to think I was, I dunno, just using you, or-“

 

Her frustration transforms spontaneously into a burst of mirth and she snorts out a laugh that makes him blink stupidly at her. “While I don’t doubt the power of your feminine wiles Melania I can say with some certainty that I would not have jumped to that fanciful conclusion.”

 

“Sorry”

 

“Jughead,” she takes his hand and feels her body go soft along with her heart. “You are my friend, irrespective of what’s happening between us, irrespective last week’s unpleasantness. You were my friend all along, you could have, you _should_ have, come to me for help”

 

He nods but doesn’t seem able to think of anything to say beyond a croaky, “ok.”

 

“I already called him anyway and gave him Mary’s contact details. The wheels are in motion whether you want my help or not”

 

The sigh that shudders noisily through his body is at least 95% relief and probably only 5% irritation at her presumption. “Thank you”

 

“You are welcome,” she gives him a saucy smile. “You know, if you plan to extort money and influence from the unsuspecting rich, you are really going to have to practice you’re winning ways.”

 

He scrunches up his face in good natured annoyance at her words but his hand still tugs her towards him, fitting her body against his and kissing her boldly on the mouth. He kisses her with an assuming familiarity, as if he’s been kissing her for years not just since Friday. His hand slips under her hair so he can tilt her head to an angle of his liking and his tongue wastes no time asking for permission to enter her mouth, slipping past her lips to move confidently against her own.

 

To her shame she hums appreciatively into his mouth, not in encouragement this time but out of a base need that seems at once to surge up from low in her belly and drop down on her from above making her feel heavy and weak in the strong circle of his arms. Maybe it’s because she’s been waiting so long for him, or maybe because she knows at his pace it’ll still be a while before she actually has him. But the intensity with which her body is demanding she fuck him actually fairly unsettling.

 

He pulls away first, his expression hovering between a self-deprecating smirk and a grimace. “I should go. I need to take the long route round to the computer lab if I’m going to dodge Chucks retribution a little longer”

 

She tangles her hands around his neck preventing his escape. “Oh, don’t worry I already dealt with Chuck”

 

“You did?” he leans back into her hands and squints questioningly at her. “When and how?”

 

“Friday night. I texted him and told him if he talked any trash about me or tried anything with you I’d post a picture of you and I making out at Pop’s with the caption,” she frees one hand from around his neck so she can use it to accent her words with three open handed stabs into the air “‘Friday night upgrade’”

 

“But-”

 

“There didn’t need to be a photo Jughead,” she tells him with the impatient air of someone being obliged to state the obvious, even as her hand returns to his neck to caress the skin just below his ear. “I simply pointed out that Chuck could be either the only Bulldog to get a date with the New York Ice Queen or he could be the guy who got ditched for Jughead Jones. He’s an idiot but he’ll make the right choice.”

 

“I’m impressed Veronica,” he replies with a deep frown shaping his mouth. “Impressed and a little nervous”

 

“Oh, don’t worry,” she gives a blasé smile. “I rarely unleash my inner Kathryn Merteuil and only ever on the truly deserving.”

 

“Good to know,” his frown transforms in the chameleon way of his into a playful flirtatious smirk.  “I suppose I should make sure I treat you right then?”

 

“You better,” she responds tugging lightly at his neck to coax him into another kiss.

 

He surprises her by wrapping his hands around her waist and with an effortless lift and spin - and God only knows how he got this strong on a rigorous regimen of burgers and PE avoidance? - pinning her against the wall so he can kiss her playfully on the neck with light tickling brushes of hips lips.

 

Squirming in his grasp she manages to get her mouth on his. His lips are already parted and she meets him with her tongue wet and demanding in his mouth, making him moan and his fingers flex almost bruisingly against her waist.

 

He tears his mouth away from hers and trails open mouthed kisses in a messy trail down her neck as far as her collar bone and back up again to the sensitive spot just below her ear. It feels, for the first time between them, a little desperate, a little lusty. She responds with encouraging murmurs of pleasure and her fingers delve into his hair knocking his beanie to the ground and tangling in the thick dark waves to pull him even closer.

 

The bell clangs loudly and the sound of students moving in the corridor outside makes them pull reluctantly apart. “I guess we better get to class before Betty comes looking for us,” she says lightly.

 

“Yeah,” his brow pinches with concern or annoyance, or maybe just distaste, she can’t really tell. “Don’t wanna get caught right”

 

“Right,” she forces herself to smile. The new Veronica will absolutely not allow herself to feel insecure about his, perfectly reasonable, desire to keep their relationship private.

 

“Right,” he repeats and suddenly this feels awkward and sort of stupid so she kisses him briefly on the lips.

 

“See you later”

 

“Sure”

 

She does see him later, sneaking a quick kiss after lunch in the small hidden corridor behind the cafeteria that leads only to a storage closet. Later again, at Pop’s with Betty and Archie where she slips one foot out of her Laboutin and slides it up his thigh under the table, stockinged toes wriggling against denim, and relishes the way he loses the thread of his latest rant while she pretends to be studying the menu.

 

As the days pass she finds herself increasingly ok about their secrecy. There’s a certain thrill in sneaking around behind their friends’ backs. Keeping their excuses subtle and unrelated when they both beg off group activities to sneak into his father’s empty trailer and make out with their coats on and their fingers like ice on the tiny patches of each other’s skin that they can reach.

 

When her mother tells her she’s going to spend the night with an old friend in New York she sighs dramatically and bemoans that the one night she could revisit her old stomping grounds is the one night she has too much homework.

 

She texts Jughead as soon as her mother drives away. _“Mom’s out for the night. Can you escape Archie? X”_

He calls her immediately, full of frustration and apology, apparently Archie’s been on at him about being shifty recently and has demanded a Pizza and gaming night.

 

She pouts and cajoles and he laughs and tells her wishes he could. “Sorry,” he says. “I’ll see you tomorrow ok”

 

“Sure,” she huffs without attempting to hide her petulance. “I’ll just open a bottle of Merlot and watch Netflix on my own then.”

 

“I’m sorry babe,” he says and maybe, just maybe, that first pet name softens her a little.

 

“Ok, fine. Have fun with Archie”

 

Less than an hour later he’s at her door smiling self-consciously. “I’m on an ice cream run. I predict having a really difficult and time-consuming time finding any”

 

She laughs and pulls him inside by the lapels, her nails digging into felt and nylon masquerading as fleece. “I can only imagine all the stores you’ve had to visit”

 

“Hmm, hmm,” he plays along as he starts planting kisses along her jaw line. “The super market has the best flavours, but it was shut.”

 

“Oh no,” she releases her hold on his lapels in favour of divesting him of his beanie, which is something, once she realised she was allowed to do, she does with relish. Not only because covering the boy’s, and this isn’t a word she uses lightly, luscious hair a crime, but because it reminds her that she’s the only one who gets to see beneath his dour aesthetic to the sexy flirt beneath.

 

“Did you try the convenience store on 3rd,” she asks after letting him kiss her for a few nerve buzzing seconds.

 

“Yep,” he pops the p and runs his hands up her sides so his thumbs meet the underside of her breast. “Christ,” he gasps when he realises she’s not wearing a bra. He pulls back a little and looks down at her chest, eyes lingering where her nipples are advertising her excitement through the thin cotton of her vest. “Umm,” he swallows and his voice is strained when he speaks again. “They only had pistachio”

 

“Gross,” she leads him back a few steps to the couch, helping him shed his jacket as they go, so they can slouch down together in the plush cushions and kiss with wet hungry mouths until they’re both short of breath. “Did you try the gas station by Pop’s” she almost gasps as he pushes her onto her back and for the first time fully cups one of her breasts in his hand. Second base, finally. It’s taken him long enough to get here, but, damn, if it’s not all the better for the wait, especially given the way he seems to have completely lost the ability to think.

 

“Umm,” he mumbles, eyes flicking down to where his own hand is gently moulding the soft flesh. “Er, yeah but I’d dropped my wallet so I had to go back and look for it”

 

He squeezes her breast a little harder and she arches into him in encouragement as his mouth again finds the sensitive skin of her neck as he hovers above her. “That must have been,” she pauses and draws in air, did she just run a marathon? she’s certainly panting like she did. “Time consuming”

 

“Yeah,” he agrees but she can tell he’s quickly forgetting their game, also possibly his own name.

 

There is, she knows, a vocabulary of sex that can at times be as complex and nuanced as any spoken language. A subtle shift in expression or a tiny drawing back, that, depending on the play of fingers against his chest can be rejection on invitation. But there are times too when that language is a blunt force or unspoken shouts. He’s shouting now as he kisses her with less reserve than he’s ever shown, yelling at the top of his lungs how much he wants her. Their kisses are wet and messy and if she wasn’t so turned on right now they’d probably be a little gross.

 

He sucks on her tongue, drawing it into his mouth and letting his teeth fall shut around it and she moans in response and grasps at jeans, pulling him down into the cradle of her hips so she can feel his body against hers. The weight of his chest, the sharp jut of his hip bones digging into her thighs, the hard length on his cock straining through denim to press against her covered pussy.

 

“Shit,” he hisses and pulls back sharply looking embarrassed. “I, uh, sorry.”

 

It takes a few beats for her lust clouded mind to work out what he’s apologising for and she’s overcome with a contradictory mess of tenderness and impatience. She squirms a little so he can slot in beside her on the large couch and catches his hand when his gaze alludes her.

 

“Jughead, you don’t have to apologise,” finally he looks back at her, his eyes anxious and his cheeks burning. “I like that I excite you,” the realisation of just how long she could end up waiting for him if she goes with her original plan of letting him set the pace is enough to make her throw caution to the wind. She rearranges their hands so that her palm lies over the back of his and slowly but firmly brings it to her knee, then, without releasing his gaze, draws their joined hands up under her skirt, enjoying the sensation of his rough palm against the silken skin high on her inner thigh. “Just like you,” she whispers as she guides his hand under the scrap of expensive black lace that covers her. “Excite me.”

 

His eyes widen and his voice is gravelly with lust and disbelief. “Jesus fucking Christ, your-”

 

“Every time,” she tells him and uses her hand to increase the pressure of his on her before withdrawing it so she can touch his face.

 

“Can I?” he croaks, making her smile softly at his need for her consent to be verbal as well as physical.

 

“It’s encouraged”

 

“Tell me what’s good ok?” he murmurs into her neck as his fingers begins to explore. “And what’s not,” he kisses his way up till his face hovers over hers and his breath flows over her mouth when he speaks. “Teach me”

 

Only when she hears that command, that surrender, does she realise just how much his virginity turns her on. The thought of being his first, of being his teacher, makes her body thrill with anticipation. But she wants to be careful with it too, in a way Peter Rosenberg hadn’t been careful with hers back at the end of 8th grade. In a way she was never careful with her own.

 

“That’s good,” she breathes as he begins to circle the pad of his index finger on her clit. “Don’t stop.”

 

He nods and kisses her, obediently keeping up the paces and pressure of his ministrations. “A little harder,” she murmurs when he turns the attention of his lips back to her neck. His pointer finger joins in as he increases the pressure rhythmically in a way that makes her keen in appreciation. “That’s it, yes, shit, like that. Good boy.”

 

The praise makes him groan against her skin and she pulls up her own top so her tits are on display as her body undulating slightly, taken by a tide of building pleasure.

 

He props himself up on one elbow to watch her and she reaches down awkwardly to stroke him through his jeans.

 

“Let’s,” his hand comes away from her pussy and wraps around her wrist stopping her before she makes contact. “Let’s make this about you,” he suggested with a wry self-conscious smile. “I’ll be lucky if I don’t embarrass myself just watching you like this, if you touch me I’m screwed”

 

The thought of him coming in his jeans at the sight of her sends a lightning bolt of arousal through her body, making her skin spark and her pussy buzz. “Ok” she murmurs as she acquiesces and lies back, arms lifted above her head, legs opening again as he trails his fingers from her clit, over her opening and back as far as the sensitive skin around her arse, spreading wetness as they go.

 

Her breath comes in a sharp appreciative hiss and she feels his smile against her neck. “Good?” he questions rhetorically as he repeats the action and sucks lightly on the juncture of her neck and shoulder. His fingers dance around her entrance, light and curious, questioning.

 

“Yes,” she angles her hips in encouragement and his fingers slip slowly inside. He presses his forehead to her collarbone for a second, breathing hard as if every sensation sparks a battle for control. Before dropping his head to lay wet kisses on her neck as he gently pumps his fingers into her.

 

“Fuck” she hisses when his thumb presses firmly on her clit rolling it in time with the slide of his fingers. “A little faster baby”

 

He responds, immediately increasing the pace and she mewls in response. “I want your mouth on my tits Jug,” he drops his head and takes her nipple in his mouth rolling it with his tongue and making something almost painful fire in the depths of her belly. Looking down she finds his eyes focused on her face as he mouths her breast. She’s still barely able to exactly pin point the colour of his eyes, some days she’d swear they were green, others a wintery grey, today they are a piercing blue, a bright contrast to his pale skin and the unruly mop of raven hair half covering his face.

 

But it’s not the colour, startling and captivating as it is, that traps her gasping and needy in his gaze. It’s the way he watching her with such intense attentiveness. That sharp mind of his, that naturally observant nature, he’s putting them to good use right now. She can tell he’s tracking every rise and fall of her chest every whimper, every gasp. He’s mapping her reactions, a cartographer of the rugged landscape of her pleasure.

 

He’s trying so hard, doing so damn well, pulling her towards release with his fingers at just the right pace and pressure to make her body writhe and tense. She finds she has no power or want to stop the breathy nonsensical praise that babbles from her.

 

“Good, boy,” she calls him. “Yes,” she gasps, and “like that,” and “fuck fuck yes, you’re good. Don’t stop.”

 

He moans in response, his hips reacting to her praise, grinding himself lightly against her side. She’s overcome with the need to reciprocate and her hand reaches for him again. “V,” he warns, reluctant and breathless into her skin.

 

“You want to please me baby?” she asks, knowing the answer, reading it in his eager compliance, his focused admiring gaze, he wants very much to please her.

 

“God yes”

 

“Let me touch you, I’m so close,” her hand ghosts from the buckle of his belt to his hip and back again, impatient for his consent. “Please Jughead, I want you with me”

 

“Ok”

 

She wastes no time undoing his jeans one handed and reaching inside his boxers to grasp him. He grunts and thrusts sharply against her palm, “Jesus, fuck Veronica”

 

He wasn’t lying when he warned her how easily he’d be undone by her touch, the movement of his fingers becomes immediately erratic as he jerks into her hand and drops his head to her shoulder. The change in pace and the increased force with which he drives his fingers into her is enough to make her arch her hips off the bed and mewl hungrily, she’s so damn close.

 

His whole body is trembling on the cusp of a release she knows he’s fighting. She doesn’t want his first orgasm with her muted by that battle, she wants it glorious in its abandon. So, she unleashes the words she knows will throw them both into the whirlwind of release.

 

“Fuck yes, you’re doing so good baby,” she gasps. “I’m gonna come for you. Good boy, like that, make me come in your hand”

 

“Christ” his hisses and she hears herself grunting, a guttural collection of consonants that she’s never heard come from her own mouth, as her body spasms violently around his fingers.

 

“Veronica,” he growls and then he’s wet and sticky and wonderful in her hand.

 

There are words somewhere in the furthest corner of her mind. They’re formless and distant but she’s aware of them all the same. Words it would be ridiculous to say right now. Words that would terrify them both. Still, they whisper in her laughter as she rolls on top of him and pointedly wipes his own mess against his belly.

 

Words she paints against his mouth with her tongue when she kisses away his disgruntled, “Hey”

 

He flips her so he can pin her beneath him and his eyes are speaking before his mouth, not those same words, but something almost as good, something warm and slightly awed. “You are so beautiful.”

 

Only then does she realise how upside down this courtship’s been. She’s told him more than once how attractive he is to her, but this is the first time he’s done the same. Perhaps she has left that vain self-absorbed girl behind in New York after all.

 

She opens her mouth to tell him he’s beautiful too, with his floppy shiny hair and his full tempting mouth, but his phones rings and she can hear Archie through the tinny speakers asking what the hell is taking so long.

 

“Gotta go?” she asks with a slight pout.

 

“Yeah, better swing but 3rd too to get some ice cream, keep up the charade,” he says it pointedly, as if expecting a reaction from her. Perhaps he’s expecting her to fight him on this and demand they go public.

 

 “Of course,” she says lightly. “Night Jughead”

 

“Veronica,” he begins and she feels a shift in the air, a tension that hadn’t been there earlier and for a second, she thinks he’s going to say something, but he just swallows and steps into press a brief kiss on her mouth. “Good night.”

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two things become apparent in the week following the evening she and Jughead rounded second base for the first time.
> 
> Firstly, Jughead Jones is an unrelenting and unrepentant tease, and secondly, her father is not a man to let being behind bars stop him form doing very bad things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter is a little shorter than i planned and pretty much just sexy times. 
> 
> Truth be told the smut was supposed to be the first half of a longer chapter but i ended up describing their interlude in more detail than i'd envisioned, i hit a natural chapter break so i just thought i'd post this and put the plot in the next chapter.
> 
> Notice me moving the total chapters goal posts, almost like i have no idea how many chapters i need to wrap this up

Chapter 11

 

Two things become apparent in the week following the evening she and Jughead rounded second base for the first time.

 

Firstly, Jughead Jones is an unrelenting and unrepentant tease. At least she assumes he’s doing it on purpose given the way he looks up at her from under that shiny curtain of black hair, lashes fluttering, tongue pressing teasingly against his teeth. The way he secretly trails his fingertip over her forearm when their friends’ backs are turned, the pressure light and teasing, hinting at intimacy their secrecy allows them little opportunity for.

 

In the Blue and Gold office he whines at Betty, melodramatic declarations of hunger induced weakness that make the blonde laugh and head off in search of something to satisfy his insatiable appetite. He slips from his chair as soon as the door closes behind the blonde and kneels on the floor at the foot of her chair, fingers tracing intricate patterns over her ankles, which she incidentally had not considered until that exact moment to be an erogenous zone, lips parted as he looks up at her.

 

“You’re driving me crazy Veronica,” he tells her in a husky whisper that hits somewhere just south of her belly button. One hand slides up he calf to take up its caresses just behind her knee.

 

“Jughead,” her voice is breathy with invitation and he pushes up so he can lean in close, his lips hovering a few millimetres away from a kiss.

 

“How the hell am I supposed to write anything when you keep touching your neck like that,” his breath warms her lips as he speaks and his fingers trace from her ear to her clavicle. “How am I supposed to think about anything except how smooth your skin is or how you moan when I kiss you just”, he pauses and moves so his lips hover level with her jawline, he slips one hand to cradle the other side of her neck and uses his thumb just beneath her chin to tilt her head so he can kiss the sensitive spot just beneath her jaw, “here.”

 

A shiver runs over her body as his lips ghost over her check to brush, feather light, against hers. He pulls immediately away, and goes back to his seat, typing away and looking unaffected while she watches him with her heart thundering in her chest and her brain foggy with arousal.

 

“Nice, Betts,” he laughs when the blonde tosses a king size bag of animal crackers at him from the doorway. When Betty turns back to her own screen he turns his head and when his gaze catches Veronica’s he draws his lower lip between his teeth and gives her lazy wink. Yes, she thinks, as she tries to focus on the words dancing over her screen. Jughead Jones is a damn tease.

 

Secondly, and far less pleasingly, her father isn’t a man to let being behind bars stop him from doing extremely bad things. What things and exactly how bad is as yet unclear but while she and Jughead have been flirting secretly and stealing kisses behind their friends’ backs, Betty Cooper has been channelling every ounce of her Nancy Drew energy into proving FP’s innocence.

 

The blonde’s investigation has uncovered very little about FP Jones and a good deal about Hiram Lodge.

 

“It’s circumstantial V,” Betty tells her. “But your father definitely paid the serpents to de-value the drive-in land and it’s pretty clear he was getting some kind of pay-off from the Blossoms”

 

Her head spins with the possibilities and the depressing realisation that she doesn’t put anything past her father.

 

That night Jughead texts her from outside the Pembrooke at 1am. “Your mom asleep?”

 

She lets him in and they sneak to her bedroom where they lie in silent sombre contemplation on her luxurious comforter with Jughead’s head pillowed on her chest and her fingers toying in his hair. “I’m sorry,” he says softly without looking at her.

 

“What for?”

 

He pushes himself up and props himself on one hand so he can look down at her. “All this stuff with your dad, if it wasn’t for me-”

 

“He’d still be doing, whatever it is he’s doing. We just wouldn't know,” she sighs feeling oddly resigned about her father’s inequities. “I’m the one who should apologies. Worst case scenario here is that he paid your dad to shoot Jason, which makes my dad the mastermind and your dad the puppet.”

 

“Christ, what a mess,” his head falls back to her chest and her fingers resume running repeatedly through the thick dark waves. “I wish we could just not, you know, not be linked to them, not care either way if they did it, just not”

 

“Tell me about it,” she sighs. “But the sins of the father, right?”

 

“Yeah, that’s what they say”, he breathes out heavily and a warm rush of air moves through the thin silk of her nightdress, caressing the skin just below her breasts. She finds herself suddenly hyper-aware of the sprawl of his body over her bed, of the silent apartment and the potent mix of prescription medication that will keep her mother from waking up till well into the morning.

 

“Betty’s trying to help, I know she is,” he continues, and she has to fight to keep her focus on his words and not on the warmth of his breath and the light reverberation of his voice through her chest as he speaks. “But I’m so fucking sick of talking about it, of thinking about it, all the time”

 

Aside from a few kisses and one brief, but thrilling, make-out session under the bleachers while Archie and Betty ate lunch above them, they’ve barely done anything since the evening she’d reached into his jeans as she’d come around his fingers.

 

Their self-imposed secrecy leaves them with little opportunity to be alone together and his teasing has been making her feel antsy and frustrated. So, she digs her fingers deeper into his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp with her long nails and gives a contemplative hum. “Maybe I can help take your mind off it,” she suggests, her tone slipping into ill-disguised suggestiveness as she gives him a little nudge to roll him onto his back so she can plaster her front to his side and trail her hand over his chest and down across his belly to the hem of his t-shirt. “Are you tired?”

 

He smirks and tilts an eyebrow, “About thirty seconds ago I’d have said I was exhausted”

 

“And now?”

 

His eyes sparkle knowingly. “Strangely, not even a little bit”

 

She throws one leg over his hips so she’s kneeling above him, keeping her body away from his as she asks breathily. “Is this ok?”

 

“Definitely”

 

She settles her weight over his hips, her building arousal amplified by the feel of him growing hard beneath her. She grinds herself against him lightly as she kisses him on the mouth, her tongue languid and teasing against his. When she draws back, making the kiss feathery and soft he follows her mouth, seeking more contact, until he’s sitting up with her in his lap.

 

Her fingers curl around his t-shirt and she gives it a directionless tug, a silent demand that it be gone. He gives her a reluctant uncertain look and she realises she’s never actually seen him shirtless before and maybe he’s a little shy. She smiles in what she hope’s is an encouraging way and gives his shirt another insistent tug that’s enough to make him reach over his shoulder and pull it off one handed, in that way boys do so effortlessly and girls can’t ever seem to manage, exposing a lean pale chest. She knows he’s not confident in how he looks from the way he moves in close again, pressing his chest against her and hiding himself from her gaze.

 

She thinks of all the jocks she’s dated with their defined pecs and washboard abs. The way they’d lean back and tense or flex under her gaze, conceited in their own attractiveness. How gauche she thinks now, how shallow and classless. She pushes him back onto the bed so she can look at him, her eyes greedy to explore what her hands are already familiar with. The sinewy lines of his chest and shoulders, the cut of his ribs above his taut stomach. Sure, he hasn’t Archie’s chiselled muscles but his wiry definition, combined with his pale skin and the dark beauty spots peppered over his body, make him delicious on her eyes.

 

He swallows audibly and she realises her perusal is making him uncomfortable. Fair is only fair she thinks and gives him a brazen look as she levels the playing field by pulling her night dress off over her head and exposing the simple nude bra and panties she’s wearing underneath, enjoying the way his eyes turn stormy as they travel over her body.

 

She lowers her head and kisses him high on his right pec, enjoying the softness of his skin beneath her lips before adjusting her position so she’s kneeling between his legs as she trails open-mouther kissed across his stomach to where she can trace the sharp jut of his hip with her tongue.

 

Her fingers run along the rough canvas of his belt until she reaches the buckle. “Is this ok?” she asks again with an unambiguously suggestive look.

 

His smile is wry and tinged with self-mocking as he props himself on his elbows and quirks an eyebrow. “I’m weird, Veronica, but I’m not that weird.”

 

She huffs in amusement as she unbuckles his belt, “I am going to take that as a yes?”

 

She gets his jeans down far enough to free his cock and wrap her hand around him, making him gasp and squeeze his eyes shut. It’s so hot, she thinks, how she affects him. How easily she can make his body resonate with her touch.

 

When she takes him in her mouth he makes a strangled noise in his throat that’s so raw, so needy, that her body pulses in response. A throb of arousal centred in her belly and pushing outward to flush her skin and leave her underwear wet with anticipation.

 

He feels exquisite in her mouth, the silken skin moving over rigid flesh with each bob of her head, each caress of her tongue. She looks up to find him watching her suck him off and when their eyes meet he makes a pained noise she thinks is supposed to be her name. “Fuck he swears as she holds his eyes and wraps her tongue around his head.

 

Without releasing his gaze as she works him with her mouth. “Jesus,” he gasps as he lifts one hand towards her hair. He halts the movement with a harsh breathy curse and his hands fall to grasp the sheets at his sides, his muscles quaking and trembling with the effort of keeping still. The rush of affection she feels for him, for his respect, his natural decency, makes her heart soft and her body eager. She pulls back just enough to speak, “you can move Jug,” she swirls her tongue briefly around the tip of his cock and with her free hand disentangles one of his from the sheets and places in in her own hair. “I want you to move”

 

“Christ, V”

 

She holds his gaze while she closes her lips around his tip and uses her hand to grip his hip and guide him into a leisurely upward thrust. “Fuck,” he mutters watching himself slide deep into her mouth. “You’re so beautiful”

 

He starts up a lazy rhythm under the encouragement of her hand, his eyes never leaving her face as he pumps gently up into her mouth. “You look fucking amazing doing that Veronica”

 

She redoubles her efforts under his appreciative gaze, massaging him with the flat of her tongue and sucking him deeper into her throat. She moans, the vibration reverberating through his flesh and making him groan helplessly.

 

It’s only moments before his hand is pushing on her shoulder. “Babe you need to stop, I’m gonna cum”

 

She looks up at him again, as she flicks away his hand and pointedly bobs her head in tacit refusal. There’s no way in hell she’s not getting a taste of him now, not with how her body is throbbing and burning with arousal at just how easily she can unravel him. She feels powerful and sexy at the sound of his groan and his mumbled disbelieving plea for confirmation. “Fuck. You want me to come in your mouth?”

 

She sucks harder in response and makes an affirmative moaning noise that makes him jerk up into her mouth with a string of hissed curses as he teeters on the brink of release. “Holy, fucking, shit, fuck”

 

She closes her eyes and dives deep onto his cock, letting him hit the back of her throat and is rewarded with a strangled cry of her name and a warm salty wash in her mouth. She keeps bobbing her head, slowing her pace to gently draw out his orgasm as she swallows his cum with a hum of satisfaction.

 

She crawls up his body and settles at his side, watching him watch the ceiling with unseeing eyes.

 

He doesn’t acknowledge her, he just slips one hand behind his head and exhales through his mouth in what sounds almost like a faint shush.

 

An unwelcome and unfamiliar rush of insecurity hit her. Was it not good?  “Are you ok?”

 

“Hush V,” he says in a soft chiding tone, still without looking at her.

 

“Jughe-” she’s hovering somewhere between insecure and irritated, this is not at all the reaction she’d expected.

 

“Quiet woman,” he insists more loudly but when he rolls his head to meet her gaze there’s something joyful and puckish in his eyes.  “Show some respect Veronica, I think I just had a religious experience”

 

She laughs then, feeling a little giddy with relief and with his dazed adoring gaze and playful smile. “Jughead Jones, I was certain you’d be an atheist”

 

“I was,” he fights a grin, trying to keep his expression serious. “But I think I just converted.”

 

He moves so suddenly then that a sharp squeaks of surprise escapes her as he grabs her waist and flips her onto her back, hovering over her with dancing eyes. “Now,” he kisses down her neck to between her breasts and looks up at her again. “There has got to be an alter around her somewhere I can worship at”

 

Her laughter catches in her throat as he heads south, laying wet lingering kisses on her skin as he goes, until he’s between her leg kissing her hesitantly through the satin of her panties. “Talk to me, ok”

 

So, she talks, in a jumble of praise and demand. “Like that,” she tells him, “don’t stop,” she begs. “Damn it Jughead use your fingers,” she orders when his merciless teasing makes her pussy feel hollow with want.

 

He takes his time with her, clearly enjoying exploring her with his mouth, but when she starts the ascent towards release he surprises her by flipping their position so she’s kneeling over his face as he pumps his fingers into her. She hovers over him feeling suddenly unsure, she’s never done this in this position before and she’s not certain how he’ll breathe once she settles over him

 

“Take what you need,” he whispers, his voice gruff and lustful, his breath chilling against her burning pussy. “Don’t hold back,” with that he pulls her firmly down onto his face with his free hand, massaging her hip, just as she’d done his, in encouragement to move. So, she forgets her uncertainties, and her concern that she might actually suffocate him, and rides his face with abandon, grinding against him as he sucks and laps at her. She’s talking then, a senseless babble of curses and appreciation. “Fuck, fuck Jug that’s good, eat my pussy baby, like that, make cum all over your face, fuck yes good boy, that’s it, let me ride your face baby I’m gonna cum so hard, fuck”

 

He moans in response, a deep baritone rumble of satisfaction that vibrates through her sensitive flesh, and reaches up to adjust her position so he can rub rough circles on her clit with his thumb as he tongue-fucks her pussy. The sensation overwhelms her in a muscle tightening wave and his name bursts from her mouth flanked in grunts and curses as she cums hard against his face. Her body goes limp and she falls gracelessly onto her back and watches him crawl back up the bed so they’re side by side. His hair is a wild mess and his mouth and chin glisten with her wetness and she thinks through the heavy mist of release and the ringing in her ears that she needs to convince him to go public so she can get more time like this with him because she really needs to fuck this boy sooner rather than later.

 

He body feel limp, heavy and sated, as she comes down form her orgasm and the urge to let out a girlish wow is almost too strong to resist, but she’s not a _wow_ kind of girl so instead she turns on her side and draws patterns with her fingers on his chest. “Was that distracting enough?”

 

He squints at her mockingly. “I’ll let you know when I remember my name and what the hell I’m doing here”

 

A soft giggle escapes her and she snuggles in against his slightly damp chest. “I wish you could stay”

 

“And risk your dad putting out a hit on me?”

 

She narrows her eyes at him and shoves him with the heel of her hand in his ribs. “That’s not funny Jughead”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We could just tell them,” he snaps with a harsh bite to his voice that makes her eyes widen and her body sway back a little in response, like a sapling caught in a sudden chill gust of his anger.
> 
> He looks contrite at her reaction and gives a small defeated and regretful sigh. “Betty and Archie wouldn’t tell, and” he shrugs and there’s something almost plaintive in his eyes, a faint pleading. “Listen V, I get you don’t want people to know, but we can trust Betty and Archie, they’d keep it to themselves and wouldn’t it just be easier?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess I should be updating NPNR but i'm a bit blocked on that front so i figured i'd crack on here. Hope this chapter, though short, satisfies

 

The next day at school she can barely maintain their charade. Her fingers are twitching with the desire to touch him as they stand beside their lockers with Archie and Betty. During French she watches him from across the room and replays the night before. The feel of him in her mouth, the intensity of the orgasm he’d given her, and the heart softening memory of their reluctant parting.

 

She’d pulled him back down onto her bed when he’d stood and reached for his shirt, wrapped her arms around him and kissed away his complaint. “I have to go V,” he’d told her but he hadn’t moved, he’d run his hand up her leg and kissed her neck.

 

“Five more minutes,” she’d bartered and they’d fallen back into kissing for at least another ten before he’d tried half-heartedly to leave again.

 

“I gotta go,” he’d drawn back so little that his words had seemed to transfer from his mouth directly into hers.

 

“Ok,” she’d kissed him again and he’d given into it with a groan of defeat and satisfaction.

 

Eventually she’d released him and he’d got as far as the door before returning for one last deep kiss.

 

She can almost feel that kiss as she watches him chewing the end of his pen and it’s doing nothing for her ability to concentrate on the past perfect tense.

 

Her phone vibrates in her lap and she looks down to see a message from him. _You’re staring_

_Was not._  She fires back and immediately follow it with. _Ok maybe a little ;-)_

He glances over and bites his lip as he replies. _B and G next period? x_

_Hell yes! xxx_

The glance he throws her way after reading her message could only be described as steamy and she finds herself suddenly extremely impatient for the end of French class.

 

Walking into the blue and gold office she’s immediately grabbed by the shoulders and spun around. Jughead’s eyes are stormy, the blue grey of a winter ocean, she notes just before his mouth covers her.

 

She kisses him eagerly as he walks them back until the back of her ass hits one of the desks. “Christ,” he swears as he picks her up with his hands at the back of her thighs and deposits her, spread legged, and panting on the desk.

 

They get approximately two seconds of warning, and are lucky to get that, when the door handle turns once the wrong way and the door jars against the latch.

 

She gives Jughead a frantic push, sending him stumbling away and quickly pulls down the hem of her skirt.

 

“Guys,” Archie finally manages to get the door open. “Hey” he looks between them, her perched primly, straight backed and tense, on the desk and Jughead several steps away glowering darkly at her. “Seriously? Are you guys fighting again?”

 

“Merely artistic differences Archiekins,” she covers with a blithe smile. “What’s up?”

 

“Ah right," Archie accepts the lie easily. "You guys seen Betty?”

 

“Sorry dude, not since homeroom,” Jughead answers for them and makes his way across the room to slouch down on the couch. “Something up?”

 

“Dunno, she wasn’t in history that’s all,” Archie shrugs. “I’ll go check the cafeteria. I’ll see you guys later, don’t kill each other ok.”

 

In the tense silence that seeps in a like fog through the door Archie leaves slightly ajar, she turns to see Jughead biting viciously at the nail of his thumb.

 

“That was clo-“ she starts but he stands suddenly the movement unnaturally jerky, and turns on her with a look dark enough to steal the half formed words form her mouth.

 

“We could just tell them,” he snaps with a harsh bite to his voice that makes her eyes widen and her body sway back a little in response, like a sapling caught in a sudden chill gust of his anger.

 

He looks contrite at her reaction and gives a small defeated and regretful sigh. “Betty and Archie wouldn’t tell, and” he shrugs and there’s something almost plaintive in his eyes, a faint pleading replacing his anger. “Listen V, I get you don’t want people to know, but we can trust Betty and Archie, they’d keep it to themselves and wouldn’t it just be easier?”

 

She feels herself blinking stupidly at him as her brain limps sluggishly towards understanding. “What?” she eventually forces the incredulous word from her mouth, can she really have got this so very wrong? Can he really think what she thinks he’s thinking? “Jughead, are you crazy?”

 

“Forget it,” he grips the strap of his messenger bag tightly and tugs on it, nervously readjusting its weight. “Forget I said anything ok”

 

And then he’s leaving and her stupid snail-like brain can’t get past her shock quickly enough to set him straight. “Jug,” she calls helplessly as the door clicks shut behind him.

 

“Shit,” she jumps up and tears the door open, “Jughead”

 

Outside the corridor is empty and she wonders if she spent longer than she’d imagined staring at the closed door and running the thought _what the fuck_ eloquently round and round her head.

 

“V?” Betty approaches her from behind, her friend’s soft voice full of concern. “V are you ok?”

 

All at once the thought of talking to Betty, of finally telling her best friend about her and Jughead, seems like something she should have done weeks ago. “Jughead thinks I’m ashamed of him.”

 

Betty gives a slow nod, clearly not startled by the revelation that there is something between her old friend and her new one, and looks at her with subtly questioning eyes. “And,” a beat. “Are you?”

 

“What?” Veronica snaps. “Oh my god Betty why would you think that? gees”

 

“I’m sorry V,” Betty shrugs awkwardly. “But I’m not blind and I’ve been waiting for you to talk to me about Jughead for weeks and you haven’t said a word”

 

Veronica’s brain stutters like a barely running engine, choked up on the ludicrousness of the situation. On how all her good intentions have led to everyone just assuming the worst.

 

“Which I understand V,” Betty hastily assures her. “I get it?”

 

Something about that statement clanks against Veronica’s brain bringing sudden sharp accusing focus to her words. “Meaning?” she asks pointedly.

 

Betty squirms, actually physically squirms, under her flinty gaze. “It just you’re Veronica Lodge. You’re a cheerleader and a socialite. You’re basically high school royalty,” Betty gives a stiff close-lipped smile. “And Jughead’s,” she pauses as if grappling for an adjective. “Jughead’s just-“

 

“Jughead’s what?” she’ll turn her frustration into anger and take it out on Betty because she really has no other outlet right now. Besides she’s heard Betty’s dismiss him as _just Jughead_ before and she likes the sound of it no more now than she did then _._ “Smart?” she leans her weight on one leg and her hand lands on her hip. “Loyal? Funny? A no holds barred smoke show? A hell of a kisser? Jughead’s what Betty?”

 

Betty rocks back on her heels emerald eyes huge and slightly hurt. “Then why didn’t you tell me Veronica?”

 

Her anger trickles impotently away, leaving her with nothing but a heaving sigh and a weak. “I just figured him for private?”

 

Betty only has a commiserating look to offer at that, so she rolls her eyes and sets her shoulders. It’s no big deal, she tells herself, and easily fixed. “I think I need to talk to my boyfriend.”

 

“You do V, but not right now. I have leads in FP’s case. I need you to find Archie and meet up with Kevin at this address,” she hands Veronica a folded piece of paper. “While Jug and I go track down FP’s ‘insurance policy’ out in Fox Forest. I’m close V, one way or another we’ll know what happened to Jason soon”

 

The thought of knowing, of that sliver of doubt protecting her and Jughead from their fathers’ crimes being stripped away, terrifies her. But she has to know who her father really is and Jughead needs to know if there’s any hope at all that he’ll even have a father after all this.

 

“Ok,” she agrees. “I’ll get Archie”

 

The motel where she and Archie meet Kevin and Joaquin is seedy on a level she’s never experienced and she finds herself clinging to Archie’s strong arm as they make their way along the needle strewn walkway. The body in the tub is barely a surprise, so perfectly does the tragic scene fit in the dilapidated building. What does stand out in the rundown room however is the expensive leather of the monogrammed bag beneath the bed. The letters taunt her silently with the thought that if she’d been paying more attention, if she hadn’t been so fixated on creating a new version of herself and on that sarcastic black-haired boy whose family her own had been entangling, then perhaps she’d have seen at least some of this coming.

 

As they trudge back to Elm street to meet Betty and Jughead in Archie’s garage, the redhead at her side finally speaks. “I’m sorry Ronnie, this sucks. But I just want you to know,” he stops walking and turns to her. “That we’re here for you,” he gives her a weighted look full of something sincere and adoring. “ _I’m_ here for you”

 

“I’m with someone,” she blurts out. It’s Jughead’s place to tell his best friend and she knows it doesn’t even matter right now, but she’s done with Archie’s moon eyed gaze and the all her well-intended secrecy. “It’s new and we haven’t told anyone yet, but I really like him Archie.”

 

“Oh, right,” Archie forces an unconvincing smile. “That’s cool”

 

“Yeah,” she allows herself a small inward smile and reminds herself that no matter how bleak things are with their families she’s won’t be giving up the boy with the black hair. “It is”

 

In Archie’s garage the already compelling evidence against both their fathers is stacking up even higher. A teetering tower of undeniable, if circumstantial, evidence only the blindest would ignore. Jason’s jacket hangs like an albatross from Betty’s delicate hands as Archie explains what they found in Mustang’s motel room.

 

She’s barely listening but when Archie utters the words, “concrete proof Veronica’s dad hired the serpents to kill Jason. Which probably means your dad pulled the trigger Jug” she sees Jughead’s head fall into his hands in a gesture so defeated that she can’t do anything but go to him.

 

“I’m sorry carino,” she falls to her knees in front of him, her hands reaching for his face. “I’m so sorry”

 

He gives a shaky sigh and scrunches up his face against the onset of tears briefly tilting his head into the cradle of her palm. “It’s not your fault V”

 

There’s a long moment of silence in which she feels Betty and Archie’s watching them as she and Jughead stare brokenly in to one another’s eyes and she tries to make her gaze convey everything she feels from him, every length she’d go to for him.

 

“No,” Betty’s voice breaks the silence and she looks over to see Betty watching them with a deep frown.  “No,” the blonde repeats more strongly, shaking her head and proffering the jacket to Archie. “Arch put this on.”

 

When they watch the video hidden in the lining of Jason’s jacket, God bless Betty Cooper and her lost chapsticks, she grasps Jughead’s hands and turns her face away from the horror on the laptops screen and into his chest. His arms around her feel like a safe place in an unsafe world. A world where two fathers are, mostly, innocent and another is guilty of a crime more heinous than any of them could have imagined.

 

Pulling back, she lets her cheek brush his and holds her face close to his as she whispers. “They didn’t do it Jug”

 

It’s a bit of a blur after that. Betty calls Cheryl with a warning and the take their evidence to Alice who gathers it together with a gleam of excitement in her eye and heads for the station. It's an hour-long rush of hyper activity which gives way to an unbearable stillness in which Jason Blossom’s last moments replay over and over on the back of her eyes.

 

She sits on one of the chairs in the Andrews’ lounge while Betty and Archie sit side by side on the sofa, both staring at their hands, and Jughead lean against the wall looking, in his exhaustion, oddly like a toy propped up against the wall.

 

Jason’s death plays again across her mind and she gives loud shuddering sigh that seems to snap Jughead out of his own thoughts. He crosses the room in a handful of weary strides and she squeezes herself up against the side of the chair to make room for him and opens her arms.

 

He settles into her embrace and they sigh in unison. She feels comfort seep into her along with his warmth and from the way he shuffles closer still she thinks, hopes, he feels the same.

 

“I sorry,” she whispers impulsively, because it’s the first chance she’s had to talk to him and Betty and Archie somehow seem far more than a few feet away. “That I made you feel like I was embarrassed to be with you. I wasn’t. I’m not.”

 

“Hey,” his voice is low, keeping their moment private, but he tries to imbue it with humour. “I wouldn’t want to be seen with me either”

 

“But I do want that Jug, truly. I just got it in my head you didn’t want to tell people”

 

He puffs out air through his nose, expression rueful yet still amused. “Perhaps we need to work on communication then?”

 

She smiles back and nods. “Perhaps”

 

From the corner of her eye she sees that Archie has lifted his gaze from his own fingernails and is watching them with a slightly disbelieving look. It irks her that even with all the evidence of her and Jughead’s closeness tonight, even with her words telling him she’s with a guy, Archie still doesn’t quite believe that that guy could be Jughead.

 

“Going public then?” she asks softly her mouth hovering over his.

 

“Ok”

 

She wants Archie watching, she wants no doubt in his mind now who the guy she told him about is, but she doesn’t look over because, much as she likes the redhead, she thinks it’s entirely possible he could interpret her relationship with Jughead as being in some way about him.

 

She keeps her eyes on Jughead’s, determining that tonight in the warm lamp light their ever-changing colour has settled to a soft muted green, and leans in giving him plenty of time to evade her as she lays her lips, chaste but lingering, against his.

 

He presses back lightly and tilts his head in invitation for her to slant her mouth fully over his. An invitation she accepts whole heartedly, shifting a little so she’s half in his lap and she can slip her tongue into her mouth.

 

“Guys” Betty interrupts them looking good naturedly horrified. “Haven’t we been scarred enough for one day?”

 

Jughead sinks lower into the chair but she straightens a little and, with her hands still firmly on his body, apologises to Betty.

 

“You’re not sorry,” the blonde grumbles but her eyes are dancing with genuine pleasure, like she thinks her friends dating is the best thing that could happen. “Not even a little bit.”

 

“No, you’re right I’m not” she snuggles down into Jughead’s arms and lays her head on his shoulder.

 

“I am for the record,” Jughead cuts in, transmuting embarrassment into wry self-deprecation. “Veronica shouldn’t inflict her horrible taste in men on the rest of you”

 

Betty laughs and Archie frowns and Veronica lifts her head so she can catch Jughead’s eye. “And yet,” she keeps her tone teasing but her gaze serious as she shakes her head in silent rebuttal even as she plays along with his joke. “I have no intention of sparing any of you”

 

She gives him a noisy peck on the lips and thinks that his bashful blushing smile as he draws back, clearly embarrassed, and slumps still deeper into the cushions is actually a fairly good way to end a truly terrible day.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We don’t have to do anything” she assures him quickly. “We can just do this if you don’t want-”
> 
>  
> 
> He huffs out a breath through his nose and blushes a furious shade of red. “No, I want to, it’s just,” he pauses to swallow. Buying time, she thinks. “But, er, let’s face it I am gonna be so, so, bad at it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the reviews and sorry i didn't reply recently. I do appreciate them so much
> 
> Hope you like this chapter its a fraction longer than normal. Although, i'm aware thats not an excuse for how slow i am getting them out right now

Their discovery, and Clifford Blossom’s subsequent suicide, doesn’t stop school coming around again. She’s grateful in a way for the familiar routine of getting out of bed, texting Jughead a good morning she knows will go unanswered because he an Archie are always running late, and hitting the shower. Packing her bag for the day’s lessons and slipping through the open door of the town car with a smile and a ‘Thank you Smithers’ is familiar enough to make the horrific scene that has haunted her dreams over the weekend feel less brutally real.

 

At school she sees Jughead only briefly at his locker before they head to class and she finds herself unsure of how to act. Can she kiss him? They’ve come clean to Betty and Archie but she stands by her assessment of him as not one for PDAs so she just smiles, calls him honey, and heads off in the opposite direction.

 

At lunch she’s sitting with Archie and Betty when Kevin descends on her in a flutter of excitement and indignation. “Oh my God Veronica,” he opens with unfeigned outrage. “How could you not have told me?”

 

“Kevin,” she purses her lips playfully. “Told you what?”

 

“That you and Jughead too-brood-for-school Jones are an item. How could you let me find this out from Betty?”

 

“Sorry V,” Betty doesn’t look sorry. She’s beaming and Veronica feels bad for judging her for the times she’d imagined her dismissive of Jughead when perhaps she'd merely worried that his uniqueness would render him forever girlfriendless. Her vicarious delight for them now is infectious and Veronica adores her for it.

 

“Yes,” she confirms for Kevin with nod. “Jughead and I are a thing”

 

“The princess and the pauper, how iconic,” Kevin’s mood does a u-turn from offended to gushing. “Ok, let’s talk bases”

 

“Guys do we have to?” Archie’s plea is answered with a dismissive wave of Kevin’s hand and otherwise universally ignored by the group.

 

“Heavy third,” Veronica confirms feeling deliciously naughty as Betty’s eyes go wide in surprise.

 

“Oh wow,” Betty murmurs at the same time as Kevin presses her further. “Quality?”

 

“High,” she confirms with a smirk. “Extremely high”

 

Kevin lifts his eyebrows at the emphatic response. “Is he good with his mouth?” his expression goes thoughtful with just a hint of dreamy. “I always imagined that sharp tongue would be good for more than sarcasm and film references”

 

“Wait,” Archie interrupts looking hilariously uncomfortable. “You imagine your friends?”

 

Kevin rolls his eyes. “Don’t worry Archibald, your supercharged heterosexuality is an epic turn off”

 

Archie looks relieved then mildly offended and Kevin turns back to Veronica with raised eyebrows waiting for an answer. “Your instincts, as ever Kevin, are spot on." she confirms. "Jughead Jones is a natural in art of fel-”

 

“Seriously guys,” Archie puts his sandwich down and looks mildly nauseous as he begs. “Can we not?”

 

Kevin waves him off again and turns back to Veronica with dancing eyes. “Size?”

 

“Kevin!” Betty squeaks and blushes brightly.

 

“Dude, no!” Archie’s begging tone turns commanding and he shoots Kevin a hard glare.

 

Veronica laughs at Kevin’s disgruntled huff and looks back and forward between a disgusted looking Archie and a blushingly curious Betty before lifting both hands into the air in approximation.

 

Betty squeals and covers her face while Kevin whistles and Archie drops his head into his hands with a groaned, “Oh God”

 

“Hey guys,” Jughead appears, taking in the strange scene with a curious frown, his hand stilling inside a jumbo bag of Doritoes. “What are we talking about?”

 

Betty and Kevin dissolve into giggles and Archie stands up suddenly and clamps a hand down on his friend’s shoulder. “Dude, you do not want to know. Trust me”

 

Grey blue eyes narrow as his gaze runs over the giggling group but he takes his best friend at his words and changes the subject. “Cheryl just gave me this,” he holds up a spider shaped broach. “And apologised. Which, honestly, can only be described as weird”

 

“That is weird,” Betty’s laughter fades away as she takes the broach and is replaced with that alert thoughtfulness that Veronica just knows means her brain is working a mile a minute. “Cheryl’s been wearing this since third grade”

 

“Exactly,” Jughead agrees with a tilt of his head. “And, unlikely as these words may sound coming from me, I’m worried about her.”

 

“I’ll go check on her,” Veronica offers to everyone’s surprise. “We can talk mean girl a mean girl. I’ll let you know what she says”

 

As she passes Jughead he touches her hand and gives the sweetest lopsided smile she’s ever seen. “See you later?”

 

She bites her lip coyly and nods. “Count on it gorgeous.”

 

Later she does see him. She even gets to touch him if you count clinging to the bulky sleeve of his Sherpa jacket as Archie punches through the ice to save Cheryl Blossom from a watery grave as touching.

 

The Cheryl huddled by the fire in her penthouse doesn’t look anything like the flame-haired she-devil who gives them hell at vixen’s practice and never misses an opportunity to grind the less fortunate beneath her heel. She looks, small, and scared, and even after drying off she looks cold to her bones, or more accurately perhaps to her broken, grieving, heart.

 

“Do you think she’ll be alright?” Veronica asks Jughead when she lies on her bed late that night with her phone pressed to her ear. “She’s been through hell”

 

“It’s Cheryl,” he starts and she knows before he can say more that she’s going to have to reprimand him for being facetious. “Hell is her natural habitat. She’ll be fine”

 

“Jug,” she admonishes tiredly.

 

“She’ll be fine Veronica. I’ve known her my whole life and I have very little good to say about her but I will say this. There’s no one tougher. Besides,” his voice goes soft, almost, but not quite, teasing. “I hear she’s got a great new friend to look out for her now”

 

“I hardly know her”

 

He laughs softly and he’s all tenderness and admiration when he speaks. “That never stopped you looking out for me. I sincerely doubt it’ll stop you looking out for her. Which makes her, and me incidentally, far luckier than either of us deserve”

 

Those words, those three damn words that have tried more than once before to sneak past the ivory sentinels in her mouth, bubble up from her chest and slide over her tongue looking for a way out. A way to make themselves heard.

 

_Not the time,_ she tells herself and her teeth close ranks behind her parted lips. Barring the way until those words slink back once again to the secret depths of her heart. _Be quiet,_ she commands them. _Wait._

“No pressure then?” She jokes once she sure she can trust herself to speak without saying something that could send him running for the hills.

 

“You’ll be fine,” she hears him yawn and smiles fondly at how perfectly she can picture him rubbing at his eyes like a little child.

 

“So, will everyone apparently. Good night Jughead”

 

“Night sweetheart.”

 

She could get used to that she thinks.

 

Days pass and the town, much to Betty’s dismay, goes back to normal with barely a mention of Clifford Blossom. Jughead’s father remains, accessory after the fact that he is, behind bars and Keller warns them he could still spend many years that way.

 

In response Fred Andrews, being the best man and father Veronica has ever encountered, makes plans to convert the back section of the Andrews’ garage into a permanent room for Jughead. “We never use it anyway,” he explains. Though the amount of stuff that needs to be removed tells another story. “And if things work out sooner with FP we’ll have a spare room. It makes sense”

 

Jughead’s expression gets that constipated look that men always get when they’re feeling things they don’t want to show. The same one he’d worn a few weeks ago when Veronica’s lawyers had confirmed that Fred had the legal right to take him in. “Thanks Mr A” he croaks and Fred gives him a fatherly pat on the shoulder as he walks away.

 

“That was sweet,” she comments choosing not to notice the way Jughead turns away and tries to hide that he’s wiping his eyes. “Fred’s a good man”

 

“He’s the best,” Jughead turns back and places his hands on his hips, the movement pulling his t-shirt enticingly tight across his chest. “Wanna help me clear out these boxes?”

 

“Absolutely not,” she lifts a hand and wiggles her fingers in his direction. “I just splurged on pick-me-up mani-pedis for Betty and I in Greendale. This seems like the sort of thing you and Archie should be doing, possibly shirtless, while Betty and I sip something delicious and issue instructions”

 

Jughead squints sceptically at her, “It’s snowing Veronica”

 

She gives a coquettish one shouldered shrug. “Didn’t stop Archie at and Reggie at practice last night”

 

“Didn’t stop me what?” Archie asks as he appears with Betty at his side.

 

“Stripping apparently,” Jughead grumbles. “You helping or what man?”

 

“Sure”

 

Jughead and Archie set about clearing the garage while Betty makes both girls a hot chocolate, which hadn’t actually been the kind of delicious Veronica had been hoping for, and they sit back and watch despite the blonde’s awkward. “Shouldn’t we help them V?”

 

“No, no, Betty, not at all. We just sit back and enjoy the show”

 

Archie takes his shirt off after about twenty minutes. Jughead doesn’t. She honestly hadn’t expected any other outcome but she pouts anyway and he surreptitiously takes hold of the bottom of his t-shirt before awkwardly simply straightening it and picking up another box without looking at her, the pink in his cheeks from more than just exertion.

 

The words hurl themselves at the inside of her chest. They’ll be out soon she realises with a slight sense of dread. There’ll simply be no stopping them.

 

The garage is already insulated, at least that’s what Jughead tells her, so it’s only a matter of partitioning off the room, a bit of dry wall and a carpet. A week after work begins she and Betty are wearing cute overalls and painting the walls while Jughead helps Mr Andrews hang a door and Archie grapples with assembling a flat pack wardrobe. It’s the kind of domestic, provincial, scene she imagines New York Veronica would have sneered at. It’s also the happiest she thinks she’s ever been. The sense of belonging, of being part of something that transcends friendship and becomes almost family, makes her heart swell with gratitude.

 

They took her in. First Betty, then Archie and finally, best of all, Jughead. They each looked past the Park Avenue princess, the mobster’s daughter, the mean girl, and let her become, finally, utterly, Veronica.

 

That night she’s at Betty’s when Archie divulges that Jughead is spending one last night in the trailer before moving in. She frowns at the thought of him alone in a place she knows hold a complicated mess of memories and emotions and calls Smithers to drive her over.

 

“Hey,” she greets as she enters without knocking to find him standing in the kitchen staring at the rusty refrigerator. “You ok?”

 

He nods and reaches out for her, wrapping her tightly in his arms. “I’m glad you’re here,” he mumbles into her hair. “Thank you”

 

“Of course.”

 

He leads her to the couch and kisses her with ill-disguised neediness, his hands roaming over her body in a way she’s more than happy to reciprocate.

 

Her hand disappears up his shirt and his start working its way up under her skirt. “How long do you have?” he whispers in her ear. “Time to make one last _good_ memory in this place?

 

“My mom thinks I’m at Betty’s” she replies and runs her fingers along the waist band of his jeans. “I could stay and make it a _really_ good memory”

 

It’s not the most subtle of propositions, she’s aware of that, but she doesn’t care. She’s impatient to have him completely and the opportunity seems too good to let slide.

 

He draws back looking decidedly spooked and she immediately feels stupid and kinda slutty. “We don’t have to do anything” she assures him quickly. “We can just do this if you don’t want-”

 

He huffs out a breath through his nose and blushes a furious shade of red. “No, I want to, it’s just,” he pauses to swallow. Buying time, she thinks. “But, er, let’s face it I am gonna be so, so, bad at it.”

 

“Jug,” she reaches tenderly for his face and draws him into a lingering intimate kiss, trying to tell him how she feels with her lips while she formulates how to tell him with words. “Don’t think like that ok. It’s not about that. It’s not about how long you last or making me cum”

 

“It’s not?” he questions looking adorably confused.

 

“That’s just practice. That we figure out together,” her kiss is a promise across his mouth her words murmured against his lip. “It’s about connecting with someone,” she leans back and strokes his face, running her finger over his lips. God, she wants him, bad at it or not, she wants this with him. “It’s about truly being open with someone. And in that,” she takes a steadying breath filling up her lungs with sincerity. “In that, I’m a virgin too”

 

She thinks that sounds pretty good until his expression does this strange thing where he frowns but his mouth twitches in restrained amusement. “Oh, god,” she grimaces in realisation. “I just heard that in a guy’s voice,” a grin breaks out on his face telling her that their humour steps once again in perfect sync. She shakes her head and looks to the ceiling as if for help. “And it totally sounded like a line”

 

He laughs, gruff and warm and full of teasing affection. “A pretty cheesy line too”

 

“Admittedly not my best work. But you get my point”

 

“I don’t know,” he muses playfully. “I think you might just be trying to get me into bed”

 

“Oh,” she gives him a sassy smirk loving the way they pendulum from teasing to sincere and back again so naturally. “I am”

 

“Hmm,” he smiles bashfully and leans down to remove his converse. “But will you still love me tomorrow?” he quips covering his awkwardness with humour. He’ll mock his own inexperience, cast himself the blushing virgin and laugh at himself so easily, so naturally that she thinks she’d laugh too if it weren’t for those damn words still begging to be said.

 

She waits it out a few long moments while her brain tells her heart, her voice box, her tongue, to stand the fuck down.

 

“Yes,” her brain loses and her lips wrap softly around the word caressing it and making it sound soft and serious. “Yes, Jughead, I will.”

 

He looks up sharply, eyes wide with shock. For a terrible moment she things she’s blown it, then he turns, pulls his hat off with one hand, and takes her jaw in the other to pull her in for a deep searching kiss that she takes as invitation to shuffle across the couch and straddle his lap.

 

He feels hard underneath her, hard hip bones digging into her thighs, hard muscles under her hands, hard cock pressing against her centre. His hardness makes her feel soft. Soft thighs wrapped around him, soft breasts in his eager hands, soft, soft heart thumping with love and excitement at the thought of feeling his hardness inside.

 

“V, shit, no, wait,” he manages to gently disengage from her hungry kiss and looks agonisingly embarrassed. “I don’t have any protection”

 

“Seriously?” she leans back to look at him, dubious and slightly irritated. “You’re a teenage boy dating a cheerleader. How have you not stocked up?””

 

He gives a sheepish embarrassed smile. “I didn’t want to presume, sorry”

 

She’d probably thing that was sweet, adorable even, if it wasn’t so damn inconvenient. Yet more evidence that this boy isn’t like the others. He’s not just here for the sex, he’s here for her. He's possibly the first boy who ever truly wanted her just for herself and the revelation makes her want him more than ever,

 

The words, “I’m on birth control” are out before she can process the intimacy of what she’s suggesting. “I totally get it if you don’t want to but we’d be safe,” she hesitates, the words ‘I got tested’ sound so clinical and make it seem like she’s been running around taking all sorts of risks that she really hasn’t so she goes with a vague, “on all counts” and a shrug. “If you still want to”

 

“Jesus Christ Veronica” he drops his head onto her shoulder and takes a deep breath. “You’re gonna fucking kill me”

 

His hands run up her thighs and under the restrictive fabric of her bunched-up skirt as his mouth starts exploring the skin of her neck. She’s had more sex than a sixteen-year-old probably should but she’s never once made love. She knows it’ll probably be short and almost certainly awkward but she doesn’t care because it wasn’t a line. This is a first for her and she’s trembling with excitement and nervousness.

 

Jughead stands without lifting her off his lap and she has to wrap her legs around his waist to keep from falling. He hooks his hands under her thighs, surprising her once again with the strength in his sinewy frame, and carries her the short distance to the bedroom.

 

He lays her on the slightly musty covers and kisses her with single-minded thoroughness until she moans and presses impatiently up against him, her hands reaching to push the thick flannel shirt from his shoulders. Sitting back on his heels he strips it off and her fingers go immediately to the buttons of her blouse enjoying the way he stills, eyes locked on the movement of her fingers, as she reveals the sexy lace bra through which her dark nipples are clearly visible.

 

With a nod of her head she silently demands his t-shirt follow his shirt onto the floor and he obeys swiftly before moving lower down her body to kiss her breast through the sheer fabric of her bra. He reaches one hand to her hip and deftly unzips her skirt before sitting back again so she can wriggle out of it. He looks good she thinks, with his chest bare and his jeans low on his hips, the weak light from the unshaded bulb above illuminates the paleness of his skin and emphasises the high contrast with his jet-black hair and the constellations of moles dotted over his body.

 

He clearly appreciates her as well in her matching lingerie as she wriggles out of her skirt and blouse. “Fuck,” he murmurs to himself as his eyes travel over her body. Then he’s kissing her belly, her ribs just below her breasts, her hip bone and a path from there down the crease of her thigh along the scalloped edge of her panties until he’s between her legs.

 

He’s done this to her a few times since the first time in her penthouse. He’s gone down on her on the air mattress in Archie’s bedroom while Archie was practising with the Pussy cats and Fred was working late, in the office of the Blue and Gold with the door locked and the blinds down hoping Betty didn’t suddenly appear, and once, surprisingly, excitingly, in a  stall in the girls bathroom with her leg over his shoulder and her lip held tight between her teeth to keep from giving them away. She knows how much he likes doing it, and god knows she loves how good he makes her feel, but she’s worried that right now he’s pulling aside her panties with his teeth because he’s changed his mind about doing anything more. “Jug?”

 

“Just starting with something I probably won’t fuck up”

 

“Oh, ok”

 

And he doesn’t. From the very first time he’s had this down. She thinks there’s no great secret to his success other than that he pays attention and responds to her cues. Tonight she finds he’s holding out on her. He evades the eager tilt of her pelvis that normally prompts him to take her clit firmly in his mouth and suck on it and instead turns his head to kiss her thigh as her orgasm retreats and she groans impatiently.

 

Again and again he denies her until she curses him and grabs at his hair to press his face into her pussy. He chuckles, a deep vibration against her clit, and disentangles her fingers from his hair. He climbs up her body, stopping briefly to remove her bra and suck her aching nipples, and kisses her full and wet and on the mouth, the taste of her own desire passing from his tongue to hers. “Jughead,” she feels needy and dissatisfied. Her pussy aches and throbs with a frustrated wanting that makes her skin feel too hot and tight for her body.

 

He rolls onto his back, pulling her with him and guides her so she’s straddling him. “Veronica,” her retorts with a smug teasing smirk.

 

She narrows her eyes and scratches her nails down his chest the buckle of his jeans and quickly strips them off him before, with deliberate slowness and a challenging gleam in her eye, positioning herself so she’s kneeling above him, her wet naked pussy just inches above his dick.

 

The smugness of a moment ago evaporates before her eyes and he swallows thickly as she leans forward and kisses him softly before settling her wet slit against his length. His hiss of appreciation makes her smile into his mouth as she slides her buzzing flesh over his, hoping he feels an answering ache.

 

“Are you sure?” she asks because this is a big deal. His virginity is not a toy for her to play with or a prize for her to collect, it’s his to give her or withhold and she refuses to let her own impatience make her pressure him.

 

“God yes,” he nods and sighs out the words with a shudder that runs through his body and into hers.

 

She’d be a liar if she said being his first didn’t turn her on. The tension in his body and the hesitant tip of his hips as she angles herself so the tip of him presses at her entrance make her feel knowing and powerful. A woman to his boy.

 

He lays his hands on her hips as she slides fully onto his cock and his fingers contract reflexively digging into her soft skin.

 

“Don’t” he croaks when she braces her knees against the mattress ready to start up a rhythm. “Don’t move yet or we’re done. Christ you feel incredible”

 

He sits up so he can wrap her in his arms, one hand hooked over her shoulder holding her firmly against him, keeping her still as he kisses her deeply.

 

“Jug,” she whines, thinking he was smart to get her so worked up already. Just the feel of him inside and the pressure against her clit is enough to make her impatient for release.

 

“God Veronica,” he moves her a fraction, keeping the motion small so that the pressure on her clit barely lets up before he’s grinding her back down against his body again, the grip on her shoulder strong and uncompromising. The denial of movement surprisingly erotic as she tenses her thighs to push up and finds the grip he has on her unrelenting.

 

She keens in pleasure and frustration, desperate to start her ascent toward orgasm, but he clamps his hand harder against her shoulder forcing her into stillness. “Easy baby,” he whispers against the shell of her ear as he repeats that same fractional movement. “You’re so fucking beautiful, and you feel so good. Go slow or this’ll be embarrassing even for a first time”

 

Her body gives a shudder at his words. The admission of how close she has him already to release makes her feel sexy as hell and the slow rhythmic grinding of her pussy against his body sends pleasure twinging through her belly.

 

He drops his head so he can kiss and suck at her breasts, the hand that’s not controlling her at her shoulder moving so knead the soft flesh.  God, she loves his mouth on her. He rolls her nipple with the flat of his tongue and she arches her back seeking out more of that delicious pressure.

 

“Fuck, Jughead,” She fights against him, her muscles straining uselessly against his grip. How the hell did this rangy burger loving exercise-phobe get so strong? She makes disgruntled noise of protests, she doesn’t care. She doesn’t care if he comes so fast she doesn’t get there, she just wants him to move before she explodes.

 

She tangles her fingers in his hair and drags his head up so she can kiss him invasively, her tongue running over his molars and pressing wet and deep against his, until he’s groaning and the grip on her shoulder slackens enough that she can ride him the way she’s been fantasising about for weeks.

 

“Veronica,” he begs as she pushes him back on to the mattress beneath her. She’s not sure if he’s begging her to stop or to move, to go slow or to let loose. It doesn’t matter either way his body is drawn taut like a bow and his hands are grasping desperately at her hips as she sets a steady satisfying rhythm.

 

“Jug,” she gasps, wondering briefly just how many times they’ll tennis one another’s names back and forth like this, lost as they are for any other words, overwhelmed as they are by the sensation of being entirely lost in one another.

 

It’s a quick build just like he feared but to her surprise she’s right there with him grinding herself against him with every downward thrust of her hips, fanning the fire he built in her with his tongue into a roaring blaze. He swears under his breath when her nails curl into his chest and grasps her arse in response helping her building rhythm as she bounces faster on his cock and her breathing turns to a series of soft breathy grunts.

 

“Fuck,” she swears when he tips his hip slightly and the angle drives him deeper every time she descends on him. “Fuck Jug I’m so close”

 

“God, me too V,” his hands move to her hips impeding her movements again. “Shit, should I pull out?”

 

“No,” she gasps urgently. “No, God. Please Jug, come inside me.”

 

The noise he makes at her words is guttural snarl, an ineloquent proclamation of desire whose sound hits her deep in her belly where pleasure twists and coils in readiness. He flips them over so she’s beneath him and buries his face in her neck as he pounds into her, his hands back on her arse pulling her against him. “Christ V,” he gasps into her skin as the tension in his body builds to its peak.

 

She mewls feeling her orgasm just within reach as he loses control and his hips jerk harder against hers. "Fuck, V, I love you,” his words are hot against her ear and his cum is hot inside her and she’s flying and falling and crashing into release, her body spasming around his cock as he empties himself into he with a final moan of her name.

 

He goes heavy. His body blanketing her bonelessly with his face still buried in the crook of her neck and his cock still inside her as their breathing begins to slow. He’s too heavy but she’ll take being a little squashed if it means a few moments more with him still inside her, still pressed naked chest to chest, still laying lazy wet kisses behind her ear.

 

Too soon her slips out of her and pulls her into his side with a contented sigh. “Ok?” he asks just a little shyly.

 

“Hmm,” she hums feeling loved up and playful in the aftermath of finally having him this way. “Honestly Jughead I’m feeling a little duped,” she pushes up on her elbow to look into his frowning face. “I was promised ‘bad’,” she teases as she lifts a hand to toy with his thick dark hair. “And that,” she throws him a kittenish smile . “That, did not qualify even remotely as bad”

 

His answering smile is adorably bashful and his cheeks perfectly pink as he squirms a little in the face of her appreciation. “That was all you. I should have known nothing involving Veronica Lodge could be less than fabulous”

 

“That,” her look is playfully conceited. “Is a good point, Veronica Lodge does nothing by halves”

 

Jughead’s gaze catches on her and she feels him dive into the connection. _I love you_ , she thinks.

 

His fingers run through her hair gently avoiding the tangles his roaming hands have just created. “I love you Veornica”

 

He chest swells with it and with all the I love yous she has waiting for him, but the air that follows that deep inhale of adoration is curiously silent as it leaves her mouth. A mild panic bubbles in her belly, _Say it!_ She commands herself, _say it before you ruin everything_.

 

Her mouth opens again but the words, those same damn words that she’s had to force back so many times in the last few weeks, have deserted her and his expression is crumbling with hurt and confusion.

 

_Just fucking say it!_

The words don’t come. They’re spinning through her head like a carousel horse run wild and ricocheting around inside her chest like pinball. But for all the carnival and cacophony inside her the air between them remains still and silent until he breaks it with an uncertain whisper of her name.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Does he feel betrayed? Duped by the hint at feelings she’d used to coax him from his clothes and into her body? Does he think her a con artist and a thief, stealing his virginity with sleight of hand and quick clever lies?
> 
> She’s not. _I’m not, I’m not, I’m not_ , she tries to tell him with the sucking pressure of her mouth on his and the needy grasping of her hands. _I’m not, I love you, I’m not!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, the final chapter, and a long one too. I hope you enjoy.
> 
> Thanks so much to all the lovely people who commented and kudos-ed this story. I have truly felt the love in the AO3 community. Thank you.

“Veronica?” Jughead asks softly into the silence where her declaration should be. Where the words. ‘I love you’ should have lingered for the first time. Where everything she feels in her heart should have taken form.

 

She crosses the empty, silent, space between them and kisses him full and frantic on the mouth. Lips that won’t bend and stretch into the three words she wants so much to say instead write that love across his in wet, smudged, script.

 

He lets her thrust her tongue into his mouth and sloppily mash her lips against his, although she doubts there’s much pleasure in it, and gently lays her hands on her waist. _What are you doing you fucking psycho?_   She asks herself as she grabs clumsily at his shoulders as if she can make up for what she hasn’t said with the sheer force of her body against his.

 

Does he feel betrayed? Duped by the hint at feelings she’d used to coax him from his clothes and into her body? Does he think her a con artist and a thief, stealing his virginity with sleight of hand and quick clever lies?

 

She’s not. _I’m not, I’m not, I’m not,_ she tries to tell him with the sucking pressure of her mouth on his and the needy grasping of her hands. _I’m not, I love you, I’m not!_

How the words can be so loud within her and so silent without is beyond her understanding.  She pushes her body against his, rubbing herself, catlike, over his skin. When he tries to break the kiss she tugs him in harder. Afraid of any space between them, any tiny distance, that could grow, because of her, into a chasm.

 

Eventually he uses his strength to gently prise her off him and tuck her under his arm again with a sigh. The fingers of his left hand take up a gentle rhythmic caress over her shoulder while the right grips loosely on her hip so that she feels cocooned, warm and safe, in his arms.

 

It’s late and the lulling sensation of his fingers is enough to make her feel sleepy and heavy. They should probably, definitely, resolve this. Work on that communication. She should tell him that it’s her fault, that she’s broken somehow. Tell him about the coldness of her parents’ marriage and the transactional nature of their affections. Explain that she’s never heard them say those words to one another, nor very often to her if she thinks about it.

 

But he kisses her head and she takes it as tacit permission to drop it and snuggle in close to his chest where his breathing lulls her toward sleep.

 

She wakes in the early hours with cold pricking her skin and her stomach churning heavily. In the unreality of the darkness and her barely woken mind she feels those inches of chilled sheet between her and his sleeping form like miles of impassable wasteland.

 

“Jug,” she whispers and reaches out for him. Surprised, in her barely conscious state, to find him so easily within reach.

 

“V?” he croaks sleepily as he turns towards her.

 

“You’re too far away”

 

His arms go around her to pull her into his warm body and he immediately falls back to sleep.

 

She wakes again before daylight begins to filter into the trailer. Her phone tells her it’s six am, that she has enough time to call Smithers to take her to Betty’s where her overnight bag, with her neatly folded clothes for the school day, waits patiently in Betty’s pastel coloured room. But last night she’d seduced Jughead with her sincere ‘yes’ to his joking ‘will you love me tomorrow’ only to find herself unable to reply in kind when he’d looked into her eyes in the afterglow and offered up his heart in three little words. The last thing she wants to do now is run out on him before he’s even awake.

 

No, she’ll stay and try to show him what she couldn’t say. She kisses down his chest and shuffles lower in the bed, keeping the duvet up over his body so the chill air doesn’t touch his skin, and takes his soft cock in her mouth.

 

His body wakes before he does, hardening deliciously against her tongue as she massages him with it and sucks lightly on the silky soft flesh. He makes a noise in his sleep, a grumbling moan that’s half pleasure and half resistance, as his brain clings to sleep and his body snaps awake, hardening fully in her mouth.

 

She works him lazily, her tongue curling around him in languid strokes as she takes him slow and deep into her mouth. At last his mind catches up with his body and he lifts the covers and peers groggily down at her as he finds his voice, rough and husky with sleep, “Good morning sweetheart”

 

She looks up and draws back far enough that she can smile around his cock in acknowledgement before taking up her efforts again. He hums in appreciation and lets her suck him off for a few minutes without any real urgency before reaching down to loop his hands under her arms and pull her on top of him.

 

They kiss, soft and, on his part at least, still a little sleepy, and she thinks she could happily wake up this way every day.  He hums a little when she sweeps her tongue along the back of his top teeth and rolls them over so he’s above her.

 

Her legs part in invitation and, relishing his weight above her, she tips her hips so he can slide smoothly inside.  It’s not like the night before, there’s no urgency, no uncertainty, it’s tender and hazy and she feels connected to him beyond the slide of his mouth on hers and the feel of him deep inside. As if in this moment their hearts beat with a single steady tattoo of love.

 

He comes deep inside her and she shudders gently in response a smooth rise and fall of pleasure like a tide. _Perfection,_ she thinks as they orgasm quietly together without breaking their kiss.

 

By the time they untangle themselves from the bedsheets it’s too late to call Smithers. “Shit,” Veronica hisses when she checks the time. “I have a test first period.”

 

“I have the bike” he offers as he sits up and tries, unsuccessfully, to run a hand through the wild tangled mess of his hair.

 

“And I have a five-hundred-dollar pencil skirt,” she retorts. “Do you have spare clothes here?”

 

He indicates a few bin liners filled with his clothes clearly ready to take to Archie’s. “Nothing that’d be your style.”

 

“You underestimate me Jughead Jones.”

 

She takes a quick chilly shower and rummages through his clothes. When she steps out of the bedroom he does a non-too-subtle double take. She’s wearing a ripped pair of his jeans that are low on her hips and a little baggy, the bottoms rolled up to just above her ankles to show off her spiked heels, and her lace trimmed cami with one of his paid shirts tied at the front and tumbling off her shoulder.

 

“You know,” he says as he hands her a pop tart and his eyes trail with ill-disguised appreciation over her body. “If you go to school wearing me people are gonna talk”

 

“And where ever did you get the notion that Veronica Lodge cares what people say, hmm?”

 

He tips his head in acknowledgement, his hair flopping over his eyes. “Fair point”

 

The outfit’s a little nineties urban for her tastes but it adds to the feeling of daring, of rebellion, she gets when she climbs off his motorbike and struts into school with him at her shoulder. The looks and whispers follow them and she swings her hips and lifts her chin in a joyful fuck you to all the shallow expectations of their peers.

 

“V,” his voice breaks through her ebullient mood as she’s stuffing books in her locker. “I can take it back if you want. If it was too soon, or, I don’t know, too much,” she turns to face him fully and he tries to cover his awkwardness with humour. “It’s inadmissible anyway right? Throes of passion and that”

 

“Jughead,” she’s tries to interrupt him but he seems in a hurry to get this out and talks over her.

 

“Just, it’s cool, if you want, I can take it back”

 

She bites her lip, noticing he doesn’t say he wants to take it back, and prepares herself to shoot down his insecurities with a laser guided missile of well-chosen words. Before she can speak Betty rushes over.

 

“V,” the blonde takes in her outfit with wide eyes then glances blushingly at Jughead obviously biting back the string of questions she wants to fire at Veronica. “We’re gonna be late for that biology test. Hey Jug”

Jughead nods once and disappears and Betty hurries them down the corridor to biology. “Did you guys? You know?” she asks as they go.

 

Veronica lifts an eyebrow in smirking affirmation and Betty grins at her looking excited and scandalised. “Wow” the blonde breathes and Veronica feels a rush of affection for Betty and all her sweet small-town innocence.

 

“Oh,” she still can’t help teasing her friend a little more and leers slightly as she answers with a wicked smile. “Wow indeed Betty my dear, wow indeed”

 

After class she pulls out her phone, the perfect text to Jughead already written in her mind. _I think I failed biology! Distracted by VERY good memories. Don’t you dare try and take it back Jughead Jones, Veronica Lodge will not be toyed with! Xx_

“Crap” she mutters when she finds the phone’s screen black and unresponsive.

 

She’s shoving the offending piece of useless technology back in her bag when she almost runs head first into Archie heading for their shared French class.

 

“Whoa,” Archie’s strong hands steady her at the shoulders as she rights herself. “Sorry Ronnie.”

 

As she steps away Archie notices her clothes and realisation dawns slowly on his face. Her own good mood returns with his changing expression. That _that’s-my-guy_ feeling she’d had beside Jughead this morning bubbling up in her again. He’s completely hers now, in every way, and the world finally knows it.

 

“Not a problem Archiekins,” she throws him a bright smile like she’s throwing ticker tape for her own personal parade.

 

“So,” Archie looks her up and down again and rubs the back of his neck self-consciously. “You and Jug are pretty serious huh?”

 

She sees Cheryl on the other side of the hallway looking appraisingly at her and gives the redhead a challenging look, only managing a distracted “Sure” for Archie.

 

“That’s cool,” Archie continues. “I guess, I just, er, a part of me kinda hoped you and I-“

 

Her attention snaps away from the redhead sneering at her from across the hall and back to the one fumbling for words at her side. “Archibald,” she lifts a hand like a cop halting traffic. “I am gonna stop you right there and remind you that Jughead is you _best_ friend.”

 

Archie’s eyes go wide as if he’s shocked at the implication, as if he wasn’t just about to smash the bro code into a million tiny pieces.  “No, I, God, I would never”

 

“Good, because neither would I,” Archie draws back a little from the hostility she knows is written on her face. “Also, grow up and get a clue Archie. Betty won’t wait for ever you know”

 

She struts off brushing past Cheryl before the redhead can comment and into French wishing she could just fast forward to breaktime and seeing her boyfriend again.

 

Break time brings her to the student lounge, looking around for Jughead, when Reggie and his cronies descend. “Damn girl,” why the hell do these fuck boys think that’s an appropriate way to greet a lady? She imagines Jughead has never said anything in even remotely that vein in his entire life. “If I’d known you were this desperate,” Reggie tugs briefly at the collar of Jughead’s signature flannel as it hangs off her shoulder. “I’d have stepped up and offered you a ride on the Mantle express weeks ago.”

 

He makes a lude gesture with his hips and she sneers in response. “I can assure you Reginald I will never be _that_ desperate”

 

“Never say never baby,” he steps in close and tenses his right arm, using his eyes to direct her gaze to the bulging muscle. “You can get an upgrade right now babe. Wanna trade Jack Skellington’s noodle arms for these Vin Diesel cannons?”

 

Leaning her weight over one hip she gives the jock a deliberately inscrutable look. She will absolutely not be intimidated by the likes of Reggie Mantle and his weak attempts to embarrass and demean her and Jughead. She purses her lips in a low whistle and nods approvingly. “Impressive Reggie, but I should warn you Veronica Lodge is hard to please”

 

Reggie smirks at his ever-present stooges, lifts his shirt, and tenses his chiselled six pack. “How about this babe?”

 

She raises an eyebrow coolly. “Hmm, the only problem Reggie, is that I want smart as well as sexy. I want a guy whose quick witted and sharp tongued, who’s as funny as he is creative, as loyal as he is tough. I want a guy who’s,” she pauses as if considering her choices. “Jughead. And you, your banal humour, and your steroid pumped biceps, just don’t measure up”

 

She gives him a bright plasticky smile. “Excuse me, my boyfriend waiting” with that she brushes past a gaping Reggie and over to Jughead who’s leaning against wall near the door and who takes her hand as she approaches and leads her out of the room and to the Blue and Gold office without speaking. Once inside he spins around and traps her against the door, his lips descending urgently on hers.

 

“I changed my mind,” he tells her as he breaks, briefly, from the kiss before diving back in leaving her head desperately trying to catch up with what he might be referring to. He quickly tears his mouth away from hers again and kisses bellow her ear, his thumb under her jaw and tilting her head to give him access. “I’m not taking it back. You’re fucking incredible.”

 

“Oh, thank god.”

 

They kiss until the urgency fades away and their deep open mouthed french kissing turns into lingering pecks on the mouth.

 

He pulls away eventually and presses his forehead to hers. “I lo-“

 

“I’m sorry,” she cuts in urgently, wanting to explain herself before he says that. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I want to say it Jug, I do. I feel it so much. But-“

 

“Hey,” he interrupts her more gently that she did him with a soft touch to her cheek. “It’s ok Veronica, you don’t have to say anything, honestly”

 

She shakes her head unable to bear the thought of him simply accepting that he’s in a one-sided relationship. That he should be expected to give without expecting to receive.

 

“Listen,” he pulls back a little and looks into her face. “It’s just words. My mom used to say it every day. Right up until she disappeared in the middle of the night and stopped taking my calls. My dad says it, but only when he’s half way to passing out drunk. They’re just words and they’ve never meant much to me, at least not until I said them to you,” he flashes his eyes in the direction of the student lounge. “I’ll take your actions Veronica, and I won’t worry about what words you can or can’t say”

 

She does smile then. At his patience and his maturity. She was so right. Reggie and his ilk could never measure up to this boy. She honestly can’t imagine ever finding any other boy that does.

 

“Ok”

 

“Besides,” his smile is sly and teasing as he opens the door for them to leave.  “You’ll say it eventually.” He gestures with ironic flourish to his own body. “How could you not”

 

She rolls her eyes and pouts playfully at him. “Maybe I’ll make you earn it”

 

“Challenge accepted”

 

The rest of the day passes as expected with the odd scathing comment from their peers and with a fumbled apology form Archie. “I’m sorry Ronnie,” he says when he catches up with her after lunch. “I wasn’t thinking about what I was saying. I’m happy for you, and Jug, honestly”

 

All in all, she’s content with the way their day of going public went. That is until Cheryl materialises in their path, her long hair flowing in glossy eye-catching waves over her slender shoulders and her pretty face twisted in disgust.

 

“Veronica Lodge willing déclassée, what has the world come to?” Cheryl’s full sticky lips curl scornfully. “I’m not sure which is more disappointing your disregard for the natural social hierarchy or your disregard for the simplest rules of fashion”

 

Veronica just rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “Really Cheryl, we’re doing this?”

 

“Obviously, Jenny from the block,” Cheryl’s entire body oozes contempt as she glances back and forth between Veronica and Jughead. “If one Vixen lowers the dating bar this far we’ll all be harangued for dates by,” she looks jughead up and down with a sneer. “Inferior specimens”

 

Jughead catches Veronica’s eye with an amused look and a shrug, a silent confirmation that he doesn’t give a single shit what Cheryl says. She knows she should just leave it. She won’t change Cheryl’s mind about Jughead and she honestly doesn’t care for the redhead’s opinion. But the injustice of her elitist bullshit, perhaps because she sees so much of her former self in the cheer captain’s clichéd mean girl swaggering, grates on her nerves.

 

“Seriously Cheryl, we literally saved your life two weeks ago”

 

“I’m aware,” Cheryl retorts haughtily. “Which is why my testimony clearly states that I heard my abhorrent father threaten FP Jones with his Jughead’s life in order to coerce him into covering up JayJay’s murder. If I’m convincing at the trail,” red hair arcs gracefully through the air as Cheryl tosses it over her shoulder. “Which I will be. Then he may be out in time for your vagabond’s college graduation. Assuming of course that he can scrounge enough pity money to actually attend”

 

“It’s called financial aid Cheryl,” Jughead speaks for the first time, his tone more hostile than his gaze. “And, thank you”

 

“You’re welcome, you hobo,” she looks them both up and down appraisingly. “Burn that,” she points a crimson talon at Jughead’s hat before turning back to Veronica. “Never wear any of that again. And you two may have an almost passable aesthetic. Cha-cha”

 

They watch Cheryl flounce off with matching frowns. “Did she just give us some kind of twisted Cheryl Blossom version of her blessing?” Veronica asks.

 

“Disturbing,” Jughead replies still squinting at the point where Cheryl disappeared. “Come on,” he throws an arm around her shoulder. “Let’s go”

 

It’s a little over a week later in her room at the penthouse that she thinks about Cheryl’s words again. Her eyes fixed on her dressing table mirror taking in the way Jughead’s hair falls forward as he looks down to watch himself slide into her body and the way his pale skin contrast so perfectly with her own.

 

With her mother is in New York, chasing her father’s release and the apartment empty she’d led Jughead into her room by the hand and stripped off her own dress so she’d stood in front of him in longline black lace bra, matching thong, and lace trimmed holdups.

 

“Fuck,” Jughead had pulled the beanie from his head and looked her over with a shuddering inhalation of appreciation. “You’re beautiful.”

 

The old Veronica used to preen, she used to strike poses and play coy. Jughead’s Veronica doesn’t indulge in such theatrics. Jughead’s Veronica basks in his adoration like a butterfly unfurling it’s wings in the warmth of the sun. “Come here,” she’d beckoned him with a curl of her finger and he’d stepped forward, stripping off his shirt as he’d moved, and laid his hands on her waist.

 

She’d tilted her head up for a kiss but he’d simply smirked and dropped to his knees, pulling her down so she’d been sitting on the bed with him kneeling between her spread legs.

 

“Hmm,” she’d hummed in anticipation and lain back as his head had dropped to kiss her through her panties. “Good boy”

 

He might be, she‘s decided, a little kinky for her praise. Those two words are like magic, making him hard, making him groan, making him cum when he’s teetering on the brink. She loves the affect her words can have on him, loves playing with the phrases that will drive him wild.

 

“That’s it, like that,” she’d murmured as he’d pulled her thong aside and run his tongue over her pussy. “You gonna eat me baby? Gonna make me cum for you?”

 

His moan of affirmation had vibrated against her clit as he’d sucked it into his mouth and his fingers had danced around her entrance teasingly.

 

“Let me see you baby,” she’d ordered after he’d worked her up into a pre-orgasm mess of shivering lust, and shuffled her upper body, awkwardly twisting to the side and up on one elbow, so she could see him unbutton his jeans one handed and pull out his cock. “Fuck baby, look at you,” she’d whispered with breathy approval at the sight and the feel of her orgasm beginning to build.  “Fuck you’re good. That’s it, good boy, make me cum baby and I’ll let you fuck me. Let you fill me up with your cum.”

 

He’d groaned helplessly, his hand fisting around his own cock, and sucked harder on her clit flicking it with his tongue and making her grunt in pleasure. Her own words, and the sight of his hand pumping up and down his cock, amplifying the feel of his mouth on her body. “Christ, yes, you wanna fuck me Jug? Wanna feel me round your cock?”

 

He’d nodded but hadn’t stopped working her pussy as she’d tumbled into her orgasm gasping out his name as she’d felt her body release a rush of wetness into his mouth that made him moan loud and low.

 

He’d withdrawn his mouth and with one swift motion he’d spun her round so she’s on all fours on the bed and crawled up so he’d been kneeling behind her and guiding his cock to her entrance.

 

“This ok?” he’d asked gruffly, checking she was down with the new position. Her almost desperate “God yes” making him chuckle as he’d slid into her still throbbing pussy.

 

And that’s how she sees them now in her mirror and finds herself thinking of Cheryl’s words, although a _‘passable aesthetic’_ doesn’t begin to cover what she’s seeing.

 

His hands are on her hips and his gaze is trained downward, fixated on the slide of his cock into her pussy. She’s dark and softly curved in her expensive lingerie and he’s angled and pale with his cheap worn dark jeans still on and his thick wild hair bouncing with each thrust of his hips. It’s the sexiest thing she’s ever seen and she can’t take her eyes off the picture they make in the mirror.

 

He releases her hip to fist his hand in her hair and notices that she’s watching them in the mirror. The hand on her hip travels under her body and the one in her hair gently pulls her upright. He turns them so they’re fully facing the mirror with them both up on their knees, the angle slightly awkward so his cock doesn’t fill her as deeply but the image in the mirror and the words he’s whispering in her ear more than make up for it.

 

“You like watching yourself get fucked Veronica?” he murmurs, his voice slipping into the low gruff tone that hits her deep in her belly whenever he talks dirty like this. “You like the way you look when you take my cock?”

 

She likes the way he looks when he’s fucking her too, the coil of sinewy muscles under his smooth pale skin, the furrow of his brow, and especially the bounce of his shiny onyx hair. But right now, this is his game, and she loves it when he takes control, so she’ll play by his rules. “Yes,” she breathes. “Fuck yes”

 

He pulls down her bra, freeing her breasts. “You like how your pretty tits bounce when I fuck you?” he cups one roughly and it jiggles in the mirror.

 

“Yes,” she confirms again, her pussy clenching eagerly at his commentary.

 

“You’re always hot veronica but you look incredible when you cum.”

 

He reaches between her legs and starts working her clit as he fucks her. “Please,” she gasps and cranes her neck trying to find his mouth over her shoulder for a kiss.

 

“Ah-ah,” he releases her breast and takes her jaw in his hand jerking it so she’s facing the mirror again. “You’re gonna watch yourself when I make you cum baby, see how gorgeous you are when you beg for me”

 

“Fuck Jughead!”

 

He releases the pressure on her clit and she moans in protest her eyes still glued to the mirror. “Jug”

 

“Beg,” he orders and something shudders with pleasure deep in her belly at his tone. “Say please and I’ll make you cum so good baby”

 

“Please Jug,” Christ she thinks he’s right. The image of herself panting and pleading in the mirror is striking. Her parted lips and wide eyes, her skin luminous in the lamp light and glistening with sweat. She is undeniably objectively beautiful, but it’s more than that. He’s behind her, his mouth on her shoulder, his hand on her pussy and she knows her beauty is his beauty too, that they create this together and she’s never felt closer to being perfect.

 

“Fuck V, God I love you,” he gasps into her shoulder as his hips jerk forward and she feels his hot cum flood her pussy and his fingers twist her clit.

 

“Jug,” she almost thinks she’ll be able to say it back, lost in the pleasure and perfection of the moment, but the words are taken from her mouth by a mewl of pleasure as her orgasm wracks her body making her shudder visible in the mirror where her eyes meet for a moment before hers close in surrender to that petite mort.

 

She comes back to life as he’s laying her down on the bed, most of her weight supported in his arms, and his lips murmuring instantly sleepy adoration against her skin. He falls asleep, dozing in the late afternoon with his head on her shoulder and his arm heavy across her belly and s sketches hearts with her fingers on his skin and mouths the words silently into his hair.

 

In her mind she plays out fantasies of the day she finally finds her voice and declare her love out loud. She conjures scenarios ranging from romantic intimate moments to grand public declarations, each one in one way or another as poetic as the last.

 

In December, as the weather turns ever more bitter and school begins to wind down for Christmas, she meets Betty at Pop’s for a shopping excursion to Centerville and finds her sitting in a booth with Archie and Jughead.

 

“Oh my God,” she looks at the stack of empty plates in front of her boyfriend and then over at Betty and Archie on the opposite side of the table. “How much did you guys let him eat?”

 

Archie throws up his hands in surrender. Betty giggles, catching the redhead’s eye, and the pair share an amused understanding look. Barchie may in fact be rising as Kevin still insists but progress is glacially slow. “Sorry V,” Betty offers without any actual apology in her tone. “Pop had an order that wasn’t collected and you know how Juggie is with free food”

 

“It’s _free_ Betts,” Jughead throws a crumpled napkin at his old friend. “How do you not understand this? Hello sweetheart”

 

He tugs her down on to the bench next to him and wraps his arm around her. She’s assaulted by the smell of bacon, vinegar and strawberry and shoves him in the chest so she can pull back. “Yuck. Get off me you gannet. Betty and I have places to be”

 

Betty nods, ponytail bouncing as if with autonomous enthusiasm, and reaches for her bag. “You ready V?”

 

“Veronica Lodge is always ready to shop Bettykins surely you know this,” she gives Archie a stern look. “Do not let him order anything else,” she commands and Archie makes a face.

 

“No promises Ronnie”

 

“Fine,” she turns to Jughead. “Be good,” she orders and presses a perfunctory kiss to his cheek. “I love you.”

 

A stunned stillness traps them momentarily. Her eyes feel impossibly wide and his mouth hangs slightly open in an ill-formed circle of surprise. “Oh,” she breathes eventually. “That was not nearly as epic as I’d pictured”

 

His mouth turns up at the corner in a stifled smile as if he’s trying to bridle a grin. “It was perfect sweetheart.”

 

Leaning forward he kisses her briefly with greasy strawberry flavoured lips. “Go on. Daddy’s credit card won’t max itself out.”

 

“Quite.” She agrees feeling a little dazed by his subdued reaction to her words.

 

“And V,” he calls her back as she’s standing to leave and she finds his eyes sparkling with playful, teasing, adoration. “Love you too.”

 

Finally, she thinks, finally she is the Veronica she has wanted to be. In Riverdale she has not simply found love and friendship, she has fought for it. She has earned it. Jughead Jones did not fall, as so many boys before him, at her feet. Jughead took in her wealth and her beauty and was unimpressed. He did not fall in love with the confident New York socialite, he fell in love with the girl who challenged and aggravated him, who believed in him and fought for him.

 

Excitement surges in her blood and ebbs away quickly into a sense of easy calm, of contented permanence, of knowing he’s not going anywhere and neither is she.

 

With a smile she turns away, links arms with Betty, and walks out with the feeling of his eyes on her as she goes and clouds beneath her feet.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there it is. My first fic completed and AO3 and my first completed Riveprdale fic. I hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> I'll finish off my other Jeronica fic, No Peace Nor Rest, next then start posting a new fic i've started starring these two gorgeous sarcastic beauties.
> 
> See you soon you wonderful lot
> 
> Sloppy kisses for the lot of you
> 
> xxxxxxx


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